Keeping the Faith
by Sentimental Star
Summary: **COMPLETE** What if Lucy *had* decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her… EDIT: FINAL CH. UP! -Siblingfic. Book and Moviebased.-
1. The Diverging of Ways

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ This is one plot-bunny that simply would _not_ leave me alone. I'm not sure anyone else has done anything quite like this (although if anyone has, I'd be very interested), so I figured, why not? It'll be a mix of Bookverse and Movieverse (because, truthfully, I could never quite settle with the way certain aspects of Peter's character were portrayed in the movie) and will incorporate various scenes from both—:grins: adjusted, of course, to fit my story. I hope you enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(1)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 260 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter One: The Diverging of Ways_

* * *

"_Oh, Aslan," said Lucy. "You don't mean it was? How could I—I couldn't have left the others and come up to you alone, how could I…oh, well, I suppose I __**could**__. Yes, and it wouldn't have been alone, I know, not if I was with you. But what would have been the good?"_

_Aslan said nothing._

"_You mean," said Lucy rather faintly, "that it would have turned out all right—somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?"_

"_To know what __**would**__ have happened, child?" said Aslan. "No. Nobody is ever told that."_ (1)

* * *

"_Aslan…? __**Aslan**__! It's Aslan over there! Don't you see? He's right…there…"_

In hindsight, it was probably one of the most noble and courageous things Edmund had ever done—right alongside a somewhat similar action on the fields of Beruna years and years ago by Narnian time.

Certainly, Lucy was not—as Peter had been—in mortal peril. Nor was she even really in danger of injury, if one was to trust Aslan—and Edmund, like Lucy (perhaps even more so in some cases), trusted Aslan with his whole heart. But she was…well, not in _danger_ from their older siblings, but certainly, had the potential to be very, very hurt.

"_Do…you see him now?"_

"_I'm not crazy."_

Trumpkin, Edmund could understand to some degree. The Red Dwarf, possessed of a heart of gold though he was, had too long been subjugated and seen _others_ subjugated to the cruelty of the Telmarines to believe any different. He understood him frighteningly well, in fact. But their siblings…

"_I'm sure there's any number of lions in these woods—just like that bear."_

"_Don't you think I know Aslan when I see him?"_

He no longer recognized Peter. In Narnia they had always fought side-by-side and back-to-back, covering and protecting each other with all that they had and all the skills they possessed. As a result, Peter, although ever the big brother, found himself equally protected by his younger brother—both on and off the battlefield.

In London, when Peter sometimes needed that protection even more than he had in Narnia, he cold-shouldered all of Edmund's efforts. They didn't seem much like brothers anymore, and Edmund did not even _want_ to think about the friendship that had—for all intents and purposes—been lost.

"_Where is it exactly that you think you saw him, Lucy?"_

"_I do wish you'd all stop talking like grown-ups. I don't think I saw him. I __**did**__ see him. And he wants us to go across the gorge."_

Susan wasn't much better. Too old, and too intent on growing up, when really, she needn't be grown-up at all because she already _had _matured. She'd been their sister and their mother, the one who understood and cared for the littlest hurts. Now, she was just stifling, and occasionally a wet blanket. But at least Edmund knew he still had somewhat the same footing with her in London as he had in Narnia, at least _she_ wasn't completely foreign.

"_Look…I'm not about to jump off a cliff after someone who doesn't exist."_

/Oh, Lu…/ Edmund thought, shutting his eyes tightly at the absolutely devastated look that crossed his littlest sister's face.

Lucy alone of his three siblings had remained unchanged. And he loved her more every day for it.

It was that which allowed him to speak now, in direct contradiction to Susan…and to Peter: "The last time I didn't believe Lucy," he spoke up slowly and thoughtfully, opening his eyes to watch Lucy and Peter where they stood near the lip of the gorge, "I ended up looking…well, pretty stupid."

He cast a significant look at Peter, who knew _exactly_ what he was talking about, and whose face abruptly tightened, then shuttered, at the unwanted reminder of how very close he'd come to losing Edmund—and not just in the physical sense, either.

"Oh, Ed!" Lucy cried in joy and, running forward, seized his hand, smiling brightly up at him.

Edmund favored her with a warm smile, squeezing her hand in return, before intently studying Peter. "She _did_ discover Narnia first, Pete, and none of us believed her then—I was the worst, I know. But look where we are now. Oughtn't we believe her this time? She _was_ right. You know that as well as I do."

He included Susan and Trumpkin in that last bit, sweeping his gaze over both of them. Susan frowned unhappily, but did not refute him, and the Dwarf just gazed silently back at him.

Edmund couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a respectful sheen to those eyes.

He turned back to Peter, and found in his older brother's eyes another story entirely. Peter knew he was right, there was no doubt about that, but his gaze, when he looked at Edmund and Lucy, was dark and pained.

With a shiver, Edmund decided he _really_ did not like it.

Peter faced Lucy again and asked, voice all but unreadable, "Why wouldn't I have seen him?"

Lucy's hand around Edmund's tightened as she answered, gently as possible, "Maybe you just weren't looking for him."

Peter looked away and back at the gorge with a barely perceptible wince.

Edmund's heart plummeted. Even before Peter turned, he knew what the older boy was going to say. "I'm sorry, Lu," and it sounded so utterly hopeless that Edmund winced himself. "I know you may be right after all," and here he glanced at his younger brother, "but I can't help it."

Unable to look at either of his youngest siblings any longer, Peter turned away, and walked past them up to Susan and Trumpkin.

Edmund was painfully conscious of his brother's bitter disappointment, as surely Lucy was, as well. He'd hoped—being back in Narnia—that the air and the places and the people would have reminded their elder siblings of what once had been, but even Narnia itself had changed, and Peter's ever present guilt was making him angry, irritable, and disagreeable.

It hurt Edmund to see that, to be forced to watch as Peter ran himself into the ground, snapping at everyone around him, and it was ten times worse because his brother _still_ wouldn't let any of them help.

He had tried, and Lucy had tried—so had Susan, even Trumpkin. But Peter…Peter was determined that no one could make this right but him.

Now, it appeared he had even forgotten Aslan.

More than anything else, that hurt, because without Aslan, there was no High King, and without the High King, there wasn't an older brother…and certainly not a best friend. Not one he knew, anyway.

"Edmund! Lucy!"

Said best friend's voice broke into his thoughts, scolding and irritated, and like salt rubbed into a newly opened wound.

"We'll be there in a minute, Peter!" Edmund called back.

"Well, hurry up!"

Edmund grit his teeth, more than a little annoyed with their brother.

One look at Lucy's stricken face, however, was enough to quench his irritation rather fast.

"Lu?" he asked softly.

"Oh, Edmund!" she cried, and promptly buried her face in his chest. She did not sob, or make a sound, merely huddled as closely to him as she could, shoulders trembling.

Edmund's heart contracted sharply, even as he awkwardly put his arms around her. This was Peter's forte, and Susan's—or, at least, the Peter and Susan he remembered—not his. But the Peter and Susan he remembered were no longer here, just him, and he felt incredibly inadequate for the task.

He must have done something right, however: after only a few minutes, Lucy's quivering shoulders had ceased their movement. Soon enough, he felt her square them underneath his hands, and push away from his chest.

Breathing a faint sigh of relief, he released her to stand on her own. Which she did, straightening her back and setting her jaw, lifting her chin so she could look him eye to eye. There was a new fire in her eyes as she gazed at him, and a hardened resolve that he had not, until this moment, realized he missed.

Unconsciously, he straightened, finding himself not merely in the presence of his youngest sister, but also in the presence of Queen Lucy the Valiant.

It had been a long time since he had last seen her thus, in all her stubborn glory.

"I don't care what Peter and Susan say. I know what I saw, and I know what he wants me to do. I'm going to him, Edmund…and thank you for believing me, but I'm not going back with you."

Edmund, who had half-expected something of this sort ever since he'd seen Queen Lucy in his sister's eyes again, simply raised an eyebrow. "And pray tell, sister mine, what makes you think I will be going anywhere without you?"

"Oh, but, Ed!" she burst out, and her eyes had grown slightly large, "You'd be going against Peter, and I…I know how much you dislike it."

Edmund grimaced lightly. That was true, but…"Lu, he…he's not the Peter you and I remember. He hasn't been, really, since we returned from the Professor's house." And oh, how he hated admitting it.

Compassion suffused his younger sister's face. "Is it very hard?" she asked softly.

Edmund started, blinking rapidly at her and caught off-guard. "What?"

"Peter. Is it very hard? I know how close you two used to be."

Her youngest brother sighed and looked away. "Sometimes," he admitted quietly, before shaking his head and turning back, holding out his hand to her. "Come on. Show me where you saw Aslan."

Understanding the subject was closed for the moment, she gave him a sad smile and took his proffered hand.

* * *

_For our life is a matter of faith, not of sight.—II Corinthians 5:7_

* * *

_Tbc._


	2. The Seeking of Paths

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you so much—I'm thrilled that this story was so well-received!

_**Author's Note:**_ Between getting frustrated with myself and staring at the computer screen for several hours straight, I finally was able to get this chapter out (and quite proud of it, I am :winks:). You may notice that there's at least as much emphasis on the character of Peter as there is on Edmund and Lucy—somehow, no matter how hard I try, I can never seem _not_ to include him :sheepish grin:. Susan and Trumpkin may appear less frequently in this story, while Caspian will start to be developed a little more, but then again…that may just be speculation. I have a general idea of the direction I want to go in, so we'll see how it turns out—I hope you enjoy every bit of this!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Quotes/Excerpts (Italics)**_

**(2)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 262 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Two: The Seeking of Paths_

* * *

_Looking down, she could see a steep and narrow path going slantwise down into the gorge between rocks, and Aslan descending it. He turned and looked at her with his happy eyes. Lucy clapped her hands and began to scramble down after him. From behind her she heard the voices of the others shouting, "Hi! Lucy! Look out for goodness' sake. You're right on the edge of the gorge. Come back--" and then, a moment later, Edmund's voice saying, "No, she's right. There __**is**__ a way down."_ (2)

* * *

Lucy had never really played favorites before. Not among her siblings, and certainly not among their subjects. It was something that all four of the monarchs had been cautious of. They knew that to play favorites as kings and queens could lead to war, and none of them wanted that.

But now, as she watched him clear the ground in their immediate area, she couldn't help feeling that Edmund really _was_ the best of her siblings at this moment. Not that she knew exactly what he had in mind, but she had long ago learned to trust that he knew what he was doing.

"What are you up to, Ed?" she asked softly, peering forward curiously from where she sat on a fallen log.

He quirked her a sort of half-smile. "Leaving a marker—for Peter."

Lucy glanced up sharply at this, hardly daring to hope. "Do you really think they'll come back here?"

Edmund grimaced and pushed away some dead leaves, picking up several stones to set aside for later use. "I don't know, Lu," he admitted softly. "But I think, once Peter discovers we've gone, he'll come tearing back here, if only to tell us how completely stupid we're being." His smile grew the tiniest fraction. "Of course, we intend to be well away from here by the time that happens." He even managed to add in a bit of wry humor, "Hopefully, he'll even be angry enough to _follow_ the markers I leave."

"Oh, Ed…" she whispered painfully, watching as he went back to the task at hand.

Peter was always angry now, Lucy reflected sadly, as Edmund finished clearing the ground and began to set out the stones. Angry at himself, angry at England, angry at Aslan…He was even angry at his siblings, and Edmund, who had always been the closest to him, received the brunt of it.

In Narnia, Edmund would let Peter have his fit of temper before dragging him out onto the practice fields (bodily if he had to) and there, would proceed to soundly trounce him in a sparring match.

Inevitably, when they returned to the castle, Peter was much calmer and level-headed, while Edmund, though undoubtedly very sore and bruised, remained well-pleased with his success—and not just in the sparring match, either.

But in England, where her brothers had no such outlet, Lucy had been forced to watch as her oldest brother grew gradually more and more moody, picking fights for what seemed to be the slightest infraction.

And Edmund, forever loyal to his brother and his king, rushed to Peter's aid without hesitation. Regardless of who had started the fight in the first place.

Inevitably, he ended up the worst beaten of the pair of them—_not_ because he was an inadequate fighter, but because he was so much smaller than Peter.

Lucy could never be sure if the anger which followed those brawls (usually directed at Edmund) was more a result of Peter's frustration…or because Edmund had been hurt trying to protect him.

What Peter did not seem to understand was that his apparent ingratitude and indifference hurt Edmund far worse than any scrape or bruise ever could.

In England when Peter got angry, Edmund simply accepted the tirade directed at him quietly and with far more grace than anyone she had ever seen.

No matter how punishing the words, no matter how cruel the actions, the younger of her two brothers endured them all without complaint.

The first few times, when Peter's anger had run its course and he registered just how beastly he was being to Edmund, he ended up sobbing nearly incoherently into their younger brother's chest, words of apology tumbling over one another, mixing and garbling with his tears.

Edmund, of course, had forgiven him with little thought.

But as the fights became more frequent, and Peter became more moody, such heartbreaking scenes grew to be few and far between.

Edmund still forgave him every time.

Lucy did not know if she were capable of the same. Her oldest brother's rejection of her word hurt far more than she cared to admit: when they had lived in Narnia that first time, he (as well as Susan and Edmund) had come to understand that Lucy knew things (at least about Aslan) that they never could; they had learned to trust her when she said something was out of the ordinary and, as a result, follow her lead with little question.

Peter and Susan had all but forgotten that when they returned to England. She was back to being the littlest, the youngest, someone to coddle and not let stray far; someone who could not understand grown-up things and would not know what was best for either herself or others.

It was cloying, and irritating, and she _hated_ it…or, at least, came as close to hating it as she had ever come to hating something.

More than even that, however, she hated what Peter's attitude change had done to Edmund.

In Narnia, wisdom and time (as well as a few sound knocks from Peter) had ensured that Edmund treated himself with the same fairness and consideration as he treated everyone else. He remained his own worst judge, but at least he _knew_ he was worthy of his siblings' love and his subjects' regard.

Back in England, without the steady support of Peter and their friendship, and _with_ the all too vivid reminders of the boy he used to be before Narnia, Edmund had once again started questioning his worth. Even as he stayed the fair, considerate, and noble brother she knew.

It therefore hurt him terribly when he had to confront a not-quite-buried demon from his horrible past.

Too angry, too frustrated, too wrapped up in his own pain and sorrow, Peter never noticed.

And it was for that Lucy could not forgive him.

It would not be until several days later that she would remember Edmund was not the only one who judged himself too harshly.

Peter did, too.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"Well, that's all set," Edmund remarked with a heavy sigh, sitting back on his heels about ten minutes later and clapping his hands together to rid them of the dirt and debris.

Eagerly, Lucy leaned forward to inspect his work. A neat circle of four stones—flat, relatively the same size and width—surrounded an arrow made of three sticks lashed together with a bit of long, slender cord he must have been carrying in the pouch on his belt.

The arrow pointed directly at the gorge. More specifically, it pointed at a Lucy-sized hole that had been made when the ground had given out under her feet and deposited her on a narrow, slantwise path that had been hidden by the overhanging earth.

It was this path that would take them across the gorge to Aslan and, hopefully, Aslan would take them to Prince Caspian.

Standing, Edmund offered her a hand up off the fallen log. With a grin, she took it and allowed herself to be brushed off once she was on her feet. Satisfied that his younger sister was presentable, he nodded to her with a small smile, "Ready?"

In response, Lucy leaned up to kiss his cheek, then pulled back (grinning at his light blush as she did so) and led the way towards the gorge.

When they reached it, Lucy went first, lowering herself carefully onto the path below while Edmund braced her from above. Once her feet were safely on the ground, she shot another brilliant grin up at him as he gently released her hands, and then quickly scampered out of the way as he shimmied down himself in a shower of earth.

They paused only for Edmund to adjust the bag he carried over his shoulder, and check that his sword and shield were still secure, before continuing along the path.

As they walked among the rocks, Lucy remained in front while Edmund followed, ready to catch her at a moment's notice if she slipped.

It warmed something deep inside her to realize this, and touched her all the more because she understood that while he may still see her as his little sister, he also saw her as the queen she used to be. Edmund seemed to know that although she may need his help from time to time, she was equally capable of taking care of herself, and he treated her as such.

"You really are the best of us, Ed," she informed him quietly some time later, when they crossed the River Rush at a much calmer point in its course and she slipped on one of the rocks they were using as stepping stones. Immediately, her brother's hands were on her waist, steadying her and helping her keep her balance as they crossed the remaining stones to the other side.

"Hardly, Lu," he murmured.

Behind them they had left yet another marker for Peter, at the juncture between two paths—one that led further along that side of the gorge, and the other which they had followed across the stream.

Now, as Lucy stepped onto the opposite bank, she resolutely turned to face Edmund, frowning when she noticed the not-quite-hidden shadows in his dark brown eyes. "I wish you would see it, too," she remarked softly.

But Edmund, forever humble, merely shook his head with a gentle smile and gestured for her to continue leading the way.

With a pout that made her brother laugh and ruffle her hair, Lucy bit back a reluctant grin and turned away, resuming their interrupted walk. To herself, however, she vowed silently, /No more of this, Ed. Somehow, some way, I'll make you understand again that you are worth every breath you take./

She knew she would need help for that particular task, but as they scrambled along the pebbled shore, and farther up the gorge, she thought she heard a Lion's distant roar, and knew that at least one source of help was very near.

IOIOIOIOIOI

An hour later, there was a sudden scrabbling of rocks behind her as Edmund abruptly lost his footing.

Whipping around (they were headed up another steep and zigzagging path at this point), Lucy grabbed his arm and struggled to keep him balanced, paling when she glanced over the side and saw how very long a drop it was to the rapids below.

Five huffing and teetering and heart-stopping minutes later, Edmund was safely back on the path with her: slightly shaky, slightly white, but mostly unharmed and very grateful to Lucy. Tottering a bit, he unsteadily made his way over to the cliff face and sat down with his back against the rock, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in his arms.

Lucy, a little light-headed herself, immediately sat down next to him.

For several long seconds neither sibling spoke, until Edmund gave a half-strangled laugh and murmured, "Well…this has certainly turned out to be quite the adventure."

Lucy bit her lip, and tried not to cry. "Do you regret it, Ed?"

Instantly, her brother's pale face was snapping up from his arms as he whirled to look at her. Gently, he grasped her chin and tilted her face up, staring sternly down into her surprised eyes. "_Never_, Lu," he replied vehemently. "Never could I regret following you _anywhere_. And that includes out of wardrobes."

Lucy's eyes went wide.

Her youngest brother may be a harsh judge when it came to himself, but he was extremely adept at reading others, especially his siblings. Therefore, it should have come as no surprise to Lucy that he was able to see what Susan and Peter could not.

More than being irritated by her oldest siblings' tendency to smother her, and more, even, than hating what Peter had done to Edmund, Lucy, in her heart of hearts, blamed herself for the way things were now.

She had been the one to discover the lamppost again. She had been the first to go rushing through the trees and into the land of Spare Oom, leaving Narnia behind her. Always eager to explore and happy to be on a new adventure, she had led her siblings away from their home of fifteen years and tumbled them back into the world where they were no longer Kings and Queens, but wartime evacuees.

Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes as she looked at Edmund. "Why not?"

Her brother's face softened, and he rubbed away a few treacherous drops that spilled down her cheeks with the edge of his sleeve. "Because I followed you _into_ the wardrobe and found Narnia. And in Narnia, I found myself again."

Abruptly, he pulled both of them to their feet. Engulfing her in a tight hug that almost took her breath away and made her squeak, he whispered into her hair, "Thank you so, so much, Lu."

And she knew he was thanking her for more than saving him from a nasty fall.

After a few minutes, Edmund inhaled deeply and set her back on her feet. "Shall we go on?" he asked with a smile.

Lucy, although horribly afraid she might start to cry again, returned it with a tremulous grin of her own, and took his hand.

Still slightly shaken by Edmund's close call, neither felt it necessary to let go, even if it did make climbing the path that much harder.

It was a long and tedious journey, and one or both of them almost slipped any number of times, but always, footing was regained and the path continued to be followed.

The slope was steep, for the precipices on this side of the gorge were a great deal higher than the ones they had left behind. Somehow, though, they made it, and soon, had clambered up and over the final lip of the gorge.

As they tumbled together into the sweet-smelling grass on the other side, Edmund and Lucy were greeted by the most wonderful sight either of them had ever seen.

Golden and glowing, beating his paw on the ground and shaking his mane, Aslan threw back his head when he saw them and let out an all-resounding roar.

"Aslan!" Lucy exclaimed happily, her entire face lighting up with joy. "Dear Aslan, at last!"

Releasing Edmund's hand, she scrambled over to the Lion as quickly as her legs could carry her. As soon as she reached him, Lucy threw herself around his neck, reaching her arms as far as they would go, and buried her face in his wonderfully silky mane.

"Oh, Aslan, Aslan, dearest Aslan, it is you, it _is _you! I've missed you so much!" the rest of her ecstatic cry was lost among the warmth and softness of his fur, but he gave a rumbling purr which might have been a laugh as he nudged her shoulder companionably with his nose.

"Well met, Dear One," and as she pulled back, he raised his warm, golden eyes to gaze proudly over her shoulder at Edmund who had followed her. "Very well met, indeed."

Lucy turned…and smiled, watching fondly with one hand still woven in Aslan's mane as Edmund immediately dropped to one knee in front of them and bowed his head, pressing his own hand to his heart.

* * *

_Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and the door shall be opened unto you. For everyone who asks shall receive, and anyone who seeks shall find, and to those who knock, the door shall be opened._—_Matthew 7:7-8_

* * *

_Tbc._


	3. The Meeting of Roads

**WARNING:** PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE, IT'S IMPORTANT!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews; I appreciate each and every one of them!

_**Author's Note:**_ Here's the plan: you may have noticed that I took down the previous two chapters. I am not abandoning this story at all, so no worries :grins sheepishly: I just had not planned on how convoluted and complex its timeline would become. Susan's and Peter's chapters, much as I love them, and much as I hate taking them down, simply did not fit the direction I'm planning on taking this story in. In some ways they do, but if I keep on adding Susan and Peter chapters in-between Edmund and Lucy chapters, I'm afraid I'll confuse my readers. Because of that, I will only be alternating chapters between Edmund and Lucy—but I promise to put up a companion piece to this from Peter's and Susan's P.O.V. if enough people are interested. I still plan on updating this story once a week until August (I go on vacation then), so keep an eye out! Once again, I apologize, and now…please enjoy the fic!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for battle scenes)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(3)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 263 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Three: The Meeting of Roads_

* * *

"_Hush!" said the other four, for now Aslan had stopped and turned and stood facing them, looking so majestic that they felt as glad as anyone can who feels afraid, and as afraid as anyone can who feels glad. The boys strode forward: Lucy made way for them: and Susan and the Dwarf shrank back._

"_Oh, Aslan," said King Peter, dropping on one knee and raising the Lion's heavy paw to his face, "I'm so glad. And I'm so sorry. I've been leading them wrong ever since we started and especially yesterday morning."_

"_My dear son," said Aslan._

_Then he turned and welcomed Edmund. "Well done," were his words._ (3)

* * *

In Narnia, the one being Edmund had revered the most was Aslan. With his siblings it was different: he admired the king his brother was, respected the queens his sisters were, and most of all, loved each and every one of them with his whole heart, treasuring their presence in his own life like he treasured nothing else.

But Aslan…Aslan was another matter entirely. He knew, in spite of what the others thought, he _knew_ what Aslan had done for him so many years ago. He knew _why_ the How had been erected, and what it was that made it so sacred. He knew what Aslan had given and to whom in exchange for Edmund's blood.

Aslan had died for Narnia, and Aslan had died for Edmund. How could he _not_ be faithful to the Lion after that?

When a warm, wet nose suddenly gently snuffed his ear and whiskers tickled his cheek, Edmund was startled. Unable to help himself, he released a small laugh and went toppling backwards into the grass as Aslan pushed his muzzle into his neck and started affectionately nuzzling him.

Giggling, Lucy tackled the both of them, and soon, the boy found himself being drawn into a playful romp through the grass, running and tumbling and chasing and laughing, all of them quite happy to be reunited once again.

It ended when Aslan suddenly nudged Edmund's chin up firmly with his nose. The young man found himself gazing straight into the golden eyes that had always penetrated to the core of his soul.

"It is well done, King Edmund," the Lion intoned solemnly. "Be at peace, and fear not, for it is well done."

Startled, pleased, touched to the center of his being, Edmund blinked back his sudden tears and nodded, smiling brightly, to Aslan.

Lucy, of course, was insatiably curious about what Aslan had said to Edmund to make his eyes shine so much, but she'd been so busy catching her breath and reveling in the feel of Aslan's mane that she hadn't heard it. Or perhaps he hadn't really said it out loud at all, only whispered it. Whatever had happened, Edmund only smiled softly at her and said nothing.

His sister pouted, but he merely laughed, before full out grinning and spinning her into an impromptu dance.

Lucy finally gave in with a laugh of her own, and as Aslan's rich laughter rang out behind them, allowed herself to be waltzed to a nearby stream where both children proceeded to drop to their knees in the damp grass along the bank and take a long, cool drink.

IOIOIOIOIOI

They were startled several minutes later by Aslan quickly bounding out of the forest and up to them in the clearing where they still knelt beside the edge of the brook.

"Hurry, children!" he roared. "On my back!"

"What is it, Aslan?" Lucy cried, nonetheless scrambling to her feet and allowing Edmund to hoist her up onto the Lion, her brother's eyes suddenly very sharp as he intently studied every miniscule detail of the wood in front of them.

"There is no time to explain! Quickly!" this directed at Edmund.

Aware of no immediate threat, but trusting in the Lion too completely to question him, the older boy scrambled onto Aslan's back behind her, barely managing to secure his arms around Lucy's waist before the Lion's powerful muscles bunched beneath them and he launched them forward into the wood with a loud roar.

Neither Lucy nor Edmund would ever be able to explain what happened next. Later Edmund would say it looked rather like how he imagined the parting of the Red Sea must have looked, while Lucy would say it looked as if the trees were peeling off in long, great chains to either side of them, and neither could agree one way or the other whether Aslan himself had done something, or whether the trees themselves had woken in that brief instant to allow them safe passage.

It mattered little at the time. And mattered even less when they rapidly neared a clearing barely twenty yards ahead of them.

"Sword and dagger out, children!" Aslan bellowed, bounding forward.

He needn't have said anything. As they drew closer, Edmund could hear the faint clash of steel and the echoes of battle cries reverberating around the wood.

Within seconds they broke the trees and into utter chaos. There wasn't time to think, wasn't time to move, wasn't time to do anything but react. Aslan loosed a fearsome roar, Edmund and Lucy tumbled off his back onto the ground, and the Lion sprang up, teeth bared, claws extended, at several mounted Telmarine soldiers on horseback.

Edmund had little time to see how the men reacted to the sudden appearance of a very large, very fierce Lion. "Lu!" he exclaimed, tossing her his dagger and unsheathing his own sword seconds later with a ringing of steel.

Deftly, Lucy caught it in her left hand, her own dagger already occupying her right. He watched as she set her shoulders and balanced both daggers in her palms. Then she turned to him and they both stared long and hard at each other, battle fervor already creeping through their veins and tightening their chests, "For Aslan?" she asked him, straightening until she was every inch Narnia's Valiant Queen.

Edmund set his jaw and gave her a grim nod, squaring his own shoulders, "And for Narnia."

With two simultaneous cries, they dove forward into the melee, ducking low, swinging high, darting into an opening here, jabbing into a space there. Brother and sister's movements were fluid and well-practiced: many Telmarines felt the bite of Edmund's blade that day; others scarcely knew what had hit them before Lucy's twin daggers slashed at their chests. Duck and cover, slash and run…Lucy and Edmund fought as a team, protecting each other's backs, battling at each other's sides, never once going any further than a five foot radius from one another.

Edmund did not know how long they had been fighting when a third joined them. He was a tall lad, all tan skin and ebony hair. He couldn't have been more than two years older than his younger counterpart, and Edmund rightly assumed that this was Prince Caspian.

"Well," Edmund panted out with a breathless laugh, as the other young man ducked a backhanded swing aimed at his head and pressed his shoulders back against Edmund's, "this is certainly an unconventional way to say hello." As yet another Telmarine slashed out at his feet, Edmund had just enough time to catch the prince's own breathless laugh before he, too, was forced to jump the blow and twist away, hammering down into the soldier's neck and coming up to brace himself back to back with Lucy.

"Making a new acquaintance, Ed?" she panted out around a laugh, slashing out with one dagger to knock a Telmarine's sword from his hand, before just as quickly following it up with double-bladed blow to the man's exposed throat.

"Of course. You know how much I love initiating conversation," he gasped, blocking a blow aimed for his own neck and spinning to slam the pommel of his sword into the back of the man's head. At the same time he heard the screeching of steel against steel behind him as Lucy blocked yet another blow with both daggers and then spun to kick the Telmarine soundly in the stomach with her heel.

With a grunt, the soldier doubled over and fell, allowing Edmund to neatly cleave his head from his shoulders with a downward arc of his sword.

Snagging the man's own weapon just in time to whirl and block another soldier's strike with both swords, he dropped to the ground and rolled as a second Telmarine sprinted up behind him. Telmarine met Telmarine in a clash of armor and steel as they abruptly collided, each unable to avoid their comrade.

Edmund leapt back to his feet as Caspian rushed forward, sword drawn, to help him. Side by side the two young men drove forward, Edmund cracking one Telmarine soundly across the face with his right elbow while Caspian ducked underneath him and thrust his sword up into the man's stomach. When the other Telmarine went to strike Caspian from behind, he found himself with one of Lucy's daggers embedded in his throat.

Clawing at it, gurgling, the Telmarine toppled bonelessly to the ground, dead.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Silence pervaded the clearing after that. At its center, the three children stood, panting, back to back and still in their ready stances. Around them, over two dozen Telmarine bodies lay strewn on the ground.

When it appeared there was no other threat remaining, Edmund bent and swiftly yanked the dagger out of the final soldier's neck, swiping it clean on the grass and handing it back to a white-faced Lucy, unwilling that his little sister should be forced to perform such a task.

As he straightened, however, movement from beyond the trees caught in the corner of his eye. As soon as he saw the crossbow bolt being loosed at Caspian's neck, Edmund stepped back into the older boy's stance, buckling the prince's knees.

With a startled, half-choked off cry, Caspian tumbled towards the ground.

But Edmund was ready. Whipping around, he caught the prince with one arm, halting his fall, and brought his sword up in an overhand arc to easily deflect the speeding crossbow bolt with a _clang_ of iron meeting centaur-wrought steel. The bolt immediately careened into a nearby boulder, shattering rock.

"Lucy!" he cried as, with an eruption of undergrowth, a lone Telmarine sprinted out of the cover of the surrounding forest.

The girl merely reacted. Balancing her right-handed dagger, his younger sister aimed…and threw.

With a strangled cry, the Telmarine went down, clutching his ankle as the dagger embedded itself in the flesh there.

"Where did you _learn_ that?" the gasping exclamation redirected Edmund's attention to Caspian, whom he still held up with one arm. The prince looked dazzled and not a little awe-struck as he gazed up at him.

Edmund blushed furiously, utterly unused to such complete adulation directed solely at him. "Practice," he finally muttered, "and lots of it." Not to mention a certain older brother who had once used such a trick to save his life.

Granted, there had been no crossbows then, and it had been a dagger instead of an arrow. It mattered little in the scheme of things. Peter had saved his life, and after endless hours of practicing with Oreius and others, Edmund had perfected it to the point where he could easily deflect a projectile at a moment's notice.

He had never been more grateful for that knowledge than he was now.

As their rampant battle nerves finally wound down, the three children were finally able to look, really _look_, at each other:

They were probably not the nicest people in the world to look at right now, Edmund reflected wryly, as he studied the young Telmarine prince, covered as they were in the dirt and grit and sweat and blood of battle. But from the way Caspian was looking at them, anyone would guess that he and Lucy were the most magnificent sight the prince had ever seen.

And for Caspian, they truly were.

"You are the Kings and Queens of Old," he breathed as Edmund helped him to his feet, gazing between them in no little wonder.

"Well, we're some of them," Lucy laughed brightly. She curtsied gracefully when he stood upright again. "In Aslan's name and by Aslan's grace we greet you, Prince."

Edmund himself dropped into an elegant bow and added, smiling at him, "Aslan's blessings upon you, brother."

And if Caspian was too completely tongue-tied to do anything other than drop into an echoing bow and stutter out a similar greeting, the two Pevensie siblings could easily forgive him.

* * *

_A faithful friend is a strong defense: and he that has found such an one has found a treasure—Ecclesiasticus 6:14_

* * *

_Tbc._

_**Footnote:**_ Just a quick request—if anyone could look up the above quote and make sure it _is_ actually a valid one, I would appreciate it immensely. It's driving me insane trying to find the correct location of it. Thanks again!

Best Regards,

Sentimental Star


	4. The Wording of Messages

**WARNING:** You may wish to have a tissue box on hand if you're easily reduced to tears.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media. The poem Edmund quotes later on in this chapter belongs to Alexander Pope and his "An Essay on Man, in Four Epistles." I'm sure you'll recognize it :grins:.

_**Reviewers:**_ I'm sorry about any difficulties you may have had reviewing last chapter, or will have reviewing this chapter—if you have an account, and you'd like to leave a review but already did so on the previous chapter four, go ahead and PM me or leave an anonymous review—I don't mind either way :grins:. Thank you for your wonderful reviews!

_**Author's Note:**_ Hello, all! I've posted the companion fic to this one—it's called _Learning to Walk Blindfolded_ and focuses on Peter and Susan's journey during the events of _Keeping the Faith_. I will probably be posting its updates (as well as the ones for this story) around once a week until August (when I go on vacation). But for the moment the only new chapters I have up are for this story—I hope you enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for sensitive issues)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

**(4)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 270 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Four: The Wording of Messages_

* * *

"_Now," said Peter, as they finished their meal, "Aslan and the girls (that's Queen Susan and Queen Lucy, Caspian) are somewhere close. We don't know when he will act. In his time, no doubt, not ours. In the meantime he would like us to do what we can on our own…"_ (4)

* * *

"First rule of kingship, Caspian: always have an escort."

Lucy giggled as Caspian grimaced good-naturedly at Edmund's mild reprimand. They were now in the process of inspecting their immediate area and had already buried the slain Telmarines. The remaining Telmarine was currently bound to a nearby tree, his hands tied behind his back. His eyes never left them as they moved about the clearing, but to his credit, he hadn't yet said a word.

Lucy suspected it was because of both the fact that she had administered her cordial to the dagger wound (neither Caspian nor Edmund had treated him _too _roughly as they tied him to the tree, either) and also because he had seen the way the three of them had buried the dead.

Apparently, it had convinced at least _this_ Telmarine that there was some humanity (or something so like it that there was no real difference) in the Narnians after all.

Caspian himself had since regained his voice, but remained rather in awe of the two of them. Still, it was worth it to see Edmund squirm whenever the prince cast him a look that narrowly avoided being termed "hero-worship."

Of course, the fact that he looked at her in much the same way was something she could easily ignore.

Not Edmund, though. Not her modest, easily embarrassed older brother.

With a grin, Lucy considered the vow she had made as they crossed the gorge, and the rather unusual way Aslan had chosen to answer her prayer.

It seemed that Caspian's rather unabashed wonder at their presence might help her brother regain some of his sense of self-worth, after all. And Lucy couldn't be happier about it.

Speaking of the Lion… "Ed, did you see where Aslan went?"

The startled, suddenly pained look that crossed her brother's face was answer enough. "Oh, Lu, he must have been needed elsewhere and gone off to help. We both know that he's not a _tame_ Lion, but I do wish…"

He trailed off, but he didn't need to say anything. The same wish had been in Lucy's heart, too. She took his hand and gave him a small smile, "We'll see him again."

"I know we will, Lu," Edmund replied with a sigh, squeezing her hand and offering a brief quirk of his lips. "I know."

If Caspian had been awe-struck by them, he looked utterly dazzled now. "Aslan…" he breathed, drawing their attention back to him. "You've been with _Aslan_?"

Edmund quirked him a half-smile. "We rode him here."

Caspian abruptly sat down on the ground, giving a half-strangled laugh and hanging his head between his knees. "Of all the extraordinary things to happen on this unbelievable day…"

Lucy and Edmund traded worried looks over the prince's head.

Crouching down beside him, Lucy started gently rubbing Caspian's trembling shoulders as the older boy struggled to come to terms with the aftershock of everything that had just happened to him.

She knew that later on tonight, she and Edmund would both have their own reactions to deal with, but at the moment, Caspian was more important.

"We're sorry we took so long," she whispered, as Edmund knelt down on the prince's other side and slid a comforting arm around his back.

"No," and Caspian's voice was thick as he looked up and glanced between them, shaking his head back and forth with a smile through tears, "no. I beseech you both…do not apologize. You have already done more than enough and far more than you know. It's already been several months, and several badly-ended battles—the Narnians were starting to lose hope…_I_ was starting to lose hope," he choked, but barreled ahead, "but now…now you're here, and you…you've brought Aslan with you…"

"Actually," Edmund interrupted with a quiet chuckle, "I think _he_ brought _us_…" Her brother fixed the prince suddenly with a very serious look, "And you called us to Narnia. You have to understand…that is one of the only ways we could have arrived here in the first place. I somehow think that if you had lost all your hope, you wouldn't have been able to do so, or sound Susan's horn at all. Which reminds me…" the tone of Edmund's voice abruptly altered, as he turned cool eyes to regard the lone Telmarine, almost forgotten until now, "we have to decide what to do with _you_."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Her brother's title, King Edmund the Just, was not an empty one. Where Peter would sometimes lose his temper, or Susan would be too lenient, or where Lucy herself would lose all patience, Edmund never did. He was very much the opposite of Peter, whose temper was something of a legend—fiery and emotional and terrifying. He was not always logical, especially when something he cared deeply about was in question, and tended to lose his head as often as not when that happened. But that was all right, because Edmund always balanced him out.

Edmund was terrifying in another way. He never lost his head, always remained infuriatingly calm and collected, and the depths of his patience were fathomless—at least where prisoners and other such matters were concerned. He listened first before judging, and made sure to hear both sides of the story before passing sentence.

In those rare instances Edmund grew angry, you knew right away. He either became overly polite or bitingly sarcastic. His temper never flared, but anyone who was in the vicinity fancied the room's temperature had dropped at _least_ several degrees. He never showed any emotion on his face, but if you were to look into his eyes, you would find them cold and hard. He'd made even the most cocksure quail in their places that way.

But he never let his own emotions sway him. No matter what he felt, no matter how angry he became, he never let it affect his sense of fairness, nor did he let it affect his judgment. It was something Peter and Lucy failed to do, and even Susan never quite managed it.

Such an attitude had made him a marvelous judge and his family was terribly proud of him.

When it was brought up, Edmund merely replied that he knew the souls of those he passed judgment on because his own soul had once been just as dark.

Regardless of whether that was true or not, Lucy quite firmly believed (and had even then) that he would never have been able to face Aslan—or them—if he had been all bad. Nor would he have been able to so utterly redeem himself in the eyes of their country, and in the eyes of his siblings. And she told him so as often as she could.

By the time their reign had drawn to its close, Edmund was almost as beloved by their people as he was by Peter, Susan, and Lucy.

"Your name, soldier?"

Her brother's hard voice abruptly redirected Lucy's attention to the present and the situation that was currently unfolding before her.

Edmund stood in front of the Telmarine, arms crossed and very little visible emotion on his face as he stared down at the man. A mystified Caspian watched him from where he had remained seated on the ground. "Queen Lucy?" he asked, glancing at her in confusion and no little concern where she still knelt beside him.

She shook her head, eyes still locked on her brother. "It's all right, Caspian. Ed knows what he's doing," a smile edged across her face, "even if the rest of us don't know quite what to make of it."

They saw the Telmarine bow as far as the tree and the ropes would allow him, until his forehead was almost touching the dirt. "My name is Glozelle, son of Glosarian," he answered quietly, and with only the faintest tremor in his voice. "All I ask is that it be quick and the lady not witness it." He nodded to Lucy, who found she rather liked his face, before once more bowing his head to Edmund.

Lucy saw her brother's shoulders relax, although his hand never left the hilt of his sword and his voice did not lose its edge. "I intend to do nothing of the sort, soldier. You are not a vain man, but you do have a particular sense of honor. I trust you will use it now. Who sent you to attack Prince Caspian? Your captain or your king?"

"King Miraz, Sire," the man replied. Even without knowing the Old Tales (or perhaps he did, and never spoke of them) the soldier appeared to understand that he knelt before a young man who was once (and still remained) a very great king. He dared not look up into Edmund's face.

"Good," her brother's voice became a notch harder. With a faint rasping of steel, he withdrew the dagger Lucy had returned to him from its leather sheath.

A proud smile crept across her face as she realized what Edmund intended do, even as she felt Caspian tense beside her, utter confusion warring with a sudden burst of uncertainty on his face. The bound Telmarine himself flinched, but did not move.

With one swift, downward stroke as he dropped to one knee beside the soldier, Edmund cut the bonds tying him to the tree. A second whittling motion freed the man's hands. Hauling him upright to his feet by the neck of his hauberk, the younger man shoved him firmly against the trunk, forcing the Telmarine to meet his eyes. Setting his jaw, his voice just on the warm side of frigid, he advised the man evenly, "Tell your king this, Glozelle, son of Glosarian: 'Hope springs eternal.'"

/Oh, _Edmund_…/ Lucy thought painfully, hearing far more behind that message than the Telmarine soldier or Caspian ever could.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"'Hope springs eternal' is actually part of a poem from our world."

Edmund's voice rang out in the forest as they trotted through the trees towards Aslan's How on their "borrowed" horses. Lucy, where she sat behind Edmund on one of the chestnut steeds' backs, tightened her arms around his waist as he began what would undoubtedly be a difficult tale to tell.

He glanced over his shoulder at her and cast her a faint smile, gently squeezing her hands where they were clasped against his stomach, before continuing his explanation to Caspian about the rather cryptic message he had sent the prince's uncle, once more staring straight ahead, "The full stanza is 'Hope springs eternal in the human breast;/Man never is, but always to be blest/The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home/Rests and expatiates in a life to come.'" He turned towards Caspian a moment and offered the prince a small smile. "I looked it up when we went back that first time, and I cannot now think of a better phrase to have chosen."

"Chosen for what, if I may ask, King Edmund?" Caspian responded quietly.

Lucy caught a glimpse of a slightly larger smile touching her brother's lips as he shook his head gently, before turning to face front again. "'Edmund' is perfectly fine, Caspian."

Although her brother was smiling, Lucy could hear the hidden heaviness behind it and bit her lip, burying her head in the older boy's back and fiercely blinking back tears. Edmund's response to Caspian showed how very much this prolonged separation from their older siblings (especially in the aftermath of a skirmish), and now Aslan, was taking its toll on her brother. Edmund's usual response would have been something like, "Drop the 'King' part and you'll do very well, Caspian. Unless, of course, you would prefer I start calling you _King_ Caspian, or _Prince _Caspian," complete with raised eyebrow and warm smirk.

She doubted the prince knew something was wrong, and Edmund, Aslan bless him, would do nothing to convince him otherwise.

"As for asking—yes, you may. When I was seventeen--" her brother began.

"Pardon, Ki—Edmund," Caspian hastily corrected himself, "but _when _you were seventeen?"

Edmund held up his free hand with a small laugh. "Hold on a minute, Caspian. That is an even _longer_ story than the one I'm telling now. I'm sure by the time we're through here you'll know quite a few of our stories, but I think I'll let Lu tell you that one. She was always good at it," and he quirked her another smile over his shoulder.

She smiled back as brightly as she could, and gave him an extra tight squeeze.

Something eased in his face, then, and his shoulders relaxed, as he turned away from her to look ahead of them, losing himself in the telling of the story, "When I was seventeen, Peter and I—that's High King Peter, Caspian—were investigating the hills near the northern border. Rumors had resurfaced about the Fell Creatures that had served the White Witch, as they usually did once a year around the borders. We were fifty strong, but had chosen to leave the greater part of our company back at the main camp. Oreius wasn't too pleased with us, if I recall correctly…" Lucy could hear the smile in his voice.

"Oreius?" Caspian asked quietly, curious.

There was definitely a smile in Edmund's voice when he next spoke. "Our General; he was a Centaur and very protective of his monarchs. He was also our weapons instructor and a very dear friend and adviser. Your Glenstorm might be descended from him…" Lucy heard the wistful tone that entered her brother's voice.

That was the horrid thing about returning to Narnia, she reflected. Everyone they knew, everyone they had loved, was dead.

Trying to ignore the tightness in her chest, she gave him a gentle nudge in the side. "Go on, Ed," she murmured, and saw the back of his head nod as they continued at their steady trot through the woods.

"Right. Well, we had only our swords, shields, and light armor with us that day, and two Fauns, a Leopard, and another Centaur—one of Oreius's Captains—as an escort. It probably won't surprise you to hear that we were attacked." There was a deep, slightly shaky sigh and Lucy felt Edmund trembling faintly in her hold. "A Hag got in a lucky shot with her magic. The spell ripped me off the back of my horse and sent me flying into a tree. Peter, of course, saw every bit of it and battled like a man possessed to reach my side. Clearly, it would have been a feat of miracle proportions if I had managed to save myself on my own with three cracked ribs, a concussion, and internal bleeding."

Lucy raised an eyebrow behind him and pointed out dryly, "You _did_ save yourself, Ed, and Peter besides."

The small chuckle coming from Caspian's direction indicated that he had heard her, as had Edmund, and that her brother was probably blushing.

"_Anyway_…" Edmund lightly stressed word, and Lucy giggled. "My brother and our guards managed to defeat that swell of Fell Creatures with no loss of life on our side, but with at least one fairly serious injury per fighter. I was too badly wounded myself for them to move me to safety, and Peter did not want to risk it. Oreius, however, had been informed of what happened by the trees, and sent one of the Eagles with the express directive that the guards were to escort Peter back to camp, leaving the Eagle—her name was Swiftwing—with me and anyone else too seriously injured to move. Incidentally, none of them were. That meant Peter had to go against every brotherly instinct that had ever been ingrained in him and leave me behind."

Lucy wisely decided _not_ to mention the fact that by the time Swiftwing had arrived, Edmund was barely conscious and had taken an arrow in his right shoulder meant for Peter (she, of course, had heard the story before—numerous times).

Caspian, where he was riding on the smaller of the two steeds raised an eyebrow as he turned towards the older of the two Golden Monarchs. "I can't imagine he liked that very much. Is he not the High King? Therefore, should he not have the final say…even if your General was as protective as you say?"

From the way he spoke that last bit, with a wry twist of his lips, Lucy rightly deduced that he had had some experience with overprotective Centaur Generals.

In spite of everything, she gave a sudden laugh, bright and uncontained, as she imagined the greeting they would receive from said Centaur General when they arrived. "I'm very much looking forward to meeting Glenstorm, I think," she informed Caspian suddenly, voice warm and full of mirth. "You obviously have had some experience in that area, and from what the DLF has told us—that's Trumpkin—he is not anymore pleased with recklessness than our Oreius was."

Caspian blushed and after giving another laugh, Lucy decided to have mercy on him and took up telling this bit of the story, "As Ed will tell you, although Peter is High King, all four of us are actually of equal standing—he has the final say in important matters, but even then, if the three of us feel something simply should _not_ be done a certain way, he will listen and see if there isn't another way to go about it." /Or, at least, he did when we were in Narnia/ she amended silently, not having to see Edmund's face to know he was thinking the same.

"You're saying King Edmund _ordered_ him to return to camp?" Caspian exclaimed, glancing at him askance.

Edmund gave the prince a faint grin. "More or less. I could barely string two or three words together at that point, but I think he got the idea. He wasn't very happy about it, to say the least." He turned away and shut his eyes as Lucy tightened her arms once more around his waist, and blew out a long breath. Here came the hard part. "I no longer remember what it was I said to him that finally convinced him to go, but I do remember that just before I blacked out I managed to tell him this: 'Hope springs eternal, brother, and though you may sometimes have to leave me, I will always find you again.'"

It had become a sort of code between her two brothers ever since. If either one of them were forced to leave the other behind—as sometimes happened during a battle—then nearly always the last thing that was said between them was "Hope springs eternal."

_I __will__ see you again._

That particular day, Lucy arrived breathless in camp after six straight hours of riding, her cordial in hand, and made good Edmund's word.

"Why tell Miraz that, though?" Caspian asked quietly, after a few long seconds of silence.

Edmund opened his eyes, and turned to the older boy with a small smile. "Consider this, Caspian—if you were Miraz and one of your soldiers came to you with _that_ message, a message from those 'barbaric Narnians,' what would you think? How would you feel?"

Caspian closed his eyes, a frown of concentration on his face. "I think I would feel rather scared," he admitted finally, letting out a faint sigh and reopening his eyes to look at Edmund.

Her brother's smile grew a bit. "Why?"

"Because something has changed and the Narnians have found their fighting spirit," the prince finished softly, gazing at both of them.

Lucy wondered if she had ever seen someone's eyes filled with quite so much gratitude before.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Much later that night, as she sat beside Edmund in the grass just outside the entrance of the How and rubbed his back as he emptied his stomach of its contents from supper, Lucy herself thought about the message her brother had sent with the Telmarine.

She knew what he had meant that message to be. Caspian thought it was for Miraz, and so it was—somewhat—but more than that, she knew Edmund hoped that somehow, by Aslan's grace, the message would also find Peter. Peter who would understand every single nuance of it, Peter who would hear every single message Edmund had said and not said: they were well, they were safe (for the moment), they were alive, they were with Caspian, they had met Aslan…

And Lucy hoped—hoped and hoped and hoped with all her heart—that it would.

* * *

_Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning—Psalms 30:5_

* * *

_Tbc._


	5. The Establishing of Kings

**WARNING:** Messy emotions ahead—this chapter, next chapter, and probably all the ones following, so be aware and armed (and still enjoy it thoroughly :winks:)!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Hi, everyone! Thank you so much for your reviews—I think you'll find you can review using the button at the bottom of the page again, because I am not replacing any old content. Once again, thank you! I appreciate every single one!

_**Author's Note:**_ Just a quick note to those of you who might not have read the previous two chapters because you thought I was merely updating old content—please do before reading this, you'll find they are completely brand new! As for _Learning to Walk Blindfolded_, I may or may not have a chapter out sometime this week. I want to, but you know what they say about the best laid plans…:grins: Anyway, please enjoy this new bit of fic!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intense moments)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Excerpts/Quotes**_

**(5)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 269 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Five: The Establishing of Kings_

* * *

"…_You, I suppose, are King Caspian?"_

"_Yes," said the other boy. "But I've no idea who you are."_

"_It's the High King, King Peter," said Trumpkin._

"_Your Majesty is very welcome," said Caspian._

"_And so is __your__ Majesty," said Peter. "I haven't come to take your place, you know, but to put you into it."_ (5)

* * *

Edmund woke with a gasp, bolting upright with cold sweat on his brow. He was still in the stone chamber Caspian had given he and Lucy to share, one of the many that surrounded the Table Chamber of Aslan's How. He was also alone, his little sister having already risen to greet the day.

Not that there was much day to greet below ground, but the How was ancient and, in a few areas, starting to crumble. Various cracks let sunlight and soil in; one beam, in fact, fell across the floor just where Lucy had been curled up next to him throughout most of the night and was likely the source of her early waking. She must have let him sleep, aware that after yesterday afternoon and their skirmish in the woods he would be exhausted. Waking up right around midnight and being forced to deal with his very belated reaction to that fight hadn't helped matters, either.

The sun had not woken him, nor was it even Lucy's missing warmth. He'd been roused from sleep by a nightmare he could no longer remember, and had been left with only a vague impression of wretched cold and terrible fright.

In a way, he was grateful Lucy had left before he had woken. She would fuss over him, and right now, Edmund wanted anything but fussing. (Actually, he wanted a good, hearty breakfast but that was beside the point.)

Groaning softly, he rubbed at his aching neck and shoulders. Although they had been given several blankets, the material did little to cushion the hardness of the rock. The juncture between his neck and left shoulder was particularly sore—although, he reflected with a slight grin, that was one ache he wouldn't mind. Lucy had spent most of last night with her head resting there as she slept.

/_Ouch_. If this is how Peter feels when we fall asleep on him, no wonder he's grumpy in the morning/ Edmund thought with another small wince as he gave that particular spot one last, vigorous rub.

Even if he was just as happy to do it again the next night.

As it had ever since Aslan had left yesterday, the thought of his older brother sent a sharp stab of longing—and even, Lion forgive him, hurt—coursing through his heart. /It's already been a full day. Is he coming? I hope Su's up to the task of keeping him out of trouble…Lion's Mane, I hope the DLF is up to keeping them _both _out of trouble./

Edmund shook his head: such thoughts would get him nowhere.

/I miss him…but then, I've been missing him for months/ he thought with a rueful sigh, standing to his feet and stretching. /Aslan only knows what Su's gotten up to. She's never tolerated worry all that well, and I'm sure the fact that Lu and I are essentially 'missing' is not making her any easier to get along with. I hope they stay together, and that Peter isn't too mule-headed to listen to her./

Unfortunately, that was just likely enough to be true.

Shaking out his limbs, Edmund crouched next to his pack and shield, wishing he had a basin of water to splash his face with. But water was scarce underground—more so here. What water they had was used almost exclusively for drinking. He and Lucy had been lucky enough to find a stream flowing into the nearby wood (they had been brought there by Caspian), and had washed up as well as they could before rejoining the others in Aslan's How.

/I've become so used to washing regularly in England that I've forgotten a little what it's like to be campaigning/ he thought with a sigh. /All those small luxuries we took for granted—hullo, what's this?/

He'd slept with his sword and its sheath still buckled around his waist, perhaps too tired to worry about it, or too worried to remove it. He had, however, unstrapped his shield and propped it up against the wall, along with the rucksack that contained his tabard, his hauberk (dwarf-wrought and weighing far less than the chain mail in our world), and armored shoulder plates. Both were in their places—exactly as he'd left them—but he only noticed now that the bow and quiver he'd carried with him (or, at least, _thought_ he'd been carrying with him) since they'd left Cair Paravel two days ago were nowhere in sight.

/That's odd/ he thought with a small frown, rummaging around in his pack and searching the immediate area, /did I lose it somewhere along the way?/

If someone had stolen it…well, he didn't want to think about the implications behind that. And if he'd _lost _it…well, he didn't want to think about that, either.

Vigorously, Edmund shook his head and considered his options, /All right, so it's missing. Not much I can do about it right now. I should probably see what Lucy and Caspian are up to, in any case./ A small smirk flitted across his face as he stood and ran his hand through his black hair in hopes of bringing some semblance of order to its wild nest. /Lu's a terror to deal with when she thinks you're not getting enough sleep or food./

IOIOIOIOIOI

"Good morning, Ed!"

Lucy's chipper voice was the first thing that greeted him when he entered the chamber of the Stone Table. Looking up with a soft grin, he found her sitting on its stone steps next to a thoroughly amused Caspian, eating breakfast.

Edmund fondly rolled his eyes. "Do I _want_ to know?" he asked dryly, taking a seat at his sister's feet and accepting the slice of bread Caspian handed to him with a grateful smile.

Lucy grinned, taking a bite of her own bread, and Caspian shrugged, doing a very poor job at concealing the spark of amusement that lit his dark eyes. "Apparently, you and King Peter were once just as bad as I am. Although Lucy insists that you're _still_ awful," the prince laughed softly, brushing crumbs off his legs.

Edmund gave a good-natured groan. "_Lu_…you did _not_ tell him what I think you did."

His little sister laughed. "Oh, Ed, how could I resist? Especially when Glenstorm said almost the exact same thing to Caspian yesterday as Oreius did to you and Peter whenever you were exceptionally reckless."

"'May I remind you, my Kings, that you _do_ have an army, and that it _is_ feeling particularly useless at the moment?' Is that the one, Lu?" he asked ironically.

"That's the one!" she agreed with a bright laugh, brushing crumbs off her hands.

The older monarch gave another groan and purposely flopped backwards into his little sister's lap. "You're horrible, Lu," he moaned, but when he glanced sideways and winked at Caspian, a smile lurked at the corner of his lips.

The prince grinned back at him, and Edmund reflected that he looked a great deal happier and far more relaxed than he had when they first met him, absence of battle aside.

Waiting until Edmund had finished his own slice of bread, Caspian quietly cleared his throat and glanced at both siblings. "I know we arrived rather late yesterday. If you'd like, I can show you the armory now."

As a quiver of excitement ran though Lucy's body, Edmund quickly stood, allowing her to hop to her feet. "That would be wonderful!" she exclaimed, grinning.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"It may not be what you're used to, but…it is defensible."

Caspian's voice, though soft, could be heard above the thuds and _whirrs_ of the wooden machinery in the background, and was punctuated by the _clang_ and _skree_ of metal being shaped and sharpened.

Lucy turned a bright smile to him. "It's lovely!" she gushed, before darting off eagerly to speak with one of the Faun smiths nearby.

The prince turned to Edmund with a shy shrug and a faint smile. "I would not call it _lovely_…but I'm glad it meets her approval."

The younger king laughed softly. "And the best thing is, she means it with all her heart. Still, Caspian…" and he turned around in a slow circle, taking in the sights and sounds of the makeshift armory with a small grin and appreciative eyes, before his gaze came back to rest on Caspian, "This is more than we could have ever hoped for. Thank you."

The older boy dipped his head in acknowledgement, cheeks faintly pink, "Certainly, Sire."

Edmund gave him a light jab in the ribs with a smile. "'Edmund,' remember? Unless you'd like me to start calling you 'your Majesty.'"

Caspian finally raised his head with a laugh and held up his hands. "Edmund it is then."

"Good," the younger man retorted with a warm grin.

Badly startling the Dwarven smith beside them, he reached over and carefully snagged the hilt of a newly made sword, setting it in his palm, testing its balance and weight, and the ease with which he could handle it. A few practice swings (graceful, skilled, and well-clear of anyone in the vicinity) later and Edmund reverently set it back on the pile, turning to the Black Dwarf with a smile. "This sword is well made," he advised, gently resting his hand on it.

The Dwarf's apple-red cheeks turned even rosier as he puffed up his chest and a twinkle of pride entered his eyes at having his beloved craft complimented thus--by a King of Old, no less! "Thank 'ee kindly, your Majesty. She's a fine tempered one, she is. But her brother 'ere…" and he nodded to the sword that he had been hammering out, "he needs to go back in the forge for a bit."

Edmund smiled at the eager look in the small man's eyes as he started rubbing his hands together, gleeful at the prospect of a challenge. Laying a hand on the Dwarf's sturdy shoulder, he responded warmly, "Then we'll leave you to it, friend."

As the two kings moved away, the Black Dwarf's gruff voice boomed out behind them, shouting cheerfully at a few of the other Dwarven smiths around them who had briefly stopped work to watch the interchange between King of Old and (though Caspian doubted Edmund knew this) Master Smith, "Come on, brothers! Back to work—we've got an army to outfit!"

Silently, the prince noted that Edmund had single-handedly won over a particularly taciturn Dwarf (and, as a result, his clan) who had originally been more inclined to Nikabrik's line of thinking.

"You two inspire so much loyalty," he murmured wistfully as they slipped off to a less populated area of the armory, catching sight of a grinning Lucy chatting happily at an utterly bemused Faun as he strung his bow.

"Because we have been with Aslan, and because of the tales that precede us. And Lu, well…" Edmund grinned. "That's just a part of who she is. But for me…" he shrugged, leaning against the wall near a completed barrel of swords, "it is because of Aslan."

Caspian frowned slightly, disagreeing. "I suspect it was not simply him, Edmund," remarked softly.

Edmund blushed faintly, staring out over the armory, but did not object (no matter how much he might disagree with the prince's statement), knowing all too well that Lucy would get on his case if she overheard. Instead, he gave a rather noncommittal shrug. "If you say so."

Shaking his head and giving a light snort—half-amused, half-disbelieving—Caspian decided to let the matter drop for the moment and replied instead, "You told me that yesterday, too—when we arrived back at the How…about Aslan, I mean."

"I know," Edmund turned back to him with a small smile, "and you will understand when you meet him."

"'When?'" the prince looked rather scared at the prospect of meeting the Lion face to face, and Edmund did not blame him.

In spite of himself, he grinned. "You ask that a lot, don't you? Yes, _when_. I have a feeling he will be quite pleased with you and everything you have done here."

This time Caspian looked away, color on his cheeks. Finally, after a few seconds, the prince glanced at him sidelong, voice softening with a note of uncertainty as he asked, "And your brother, Edmund? Will the High King be pleased?"

Edmund dropped his eyes to the ground, wishing Caspian hadn't asked that. "The High King I knew would have, but my brother…" he trailed off, shrugging uncomfortably, and frowned, rubbing at suddenly chilled arms, "I am no longer sure what my brother thinks. I do not know him as well as I once did, Caspian."

Caspian could sense that something had gone very wrong between the two brothers; and yet…after yesterday, after such a painful explanation…"He is still your brother, is he not? You still love him…do you not? As much as you always have…"

His query left Edmund looking very thoughtful for a long time.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It could not have been much longer than fifteen minutes before Lucy rejoined them; bubbling over with joy as she related everything she had learned from the Faun:

"He says he's related to Mr. Tumnus, Ed!"

And a laughing Edmund let her talk herself out, about how it wasn't so bad as they had first thought and…

Caspian chuckled when she was through, glad to see his new friends happy. Wanting to take advantage of the lightened mood, he sent a sword (where it had been leaning against a nearby barrel) freewheeling into the air with a neat kick of his booted foot—allowing Edmund to smoothly catch it by the hilt in his right hand—and grinned a bit at the younger king. "Shall we, _King_ Edmund?" lightly taunting.

Edmund was completely unable to hide an answering grin. "As you wish, Prince. However…"

He motioned to Lucy and, as a puzzled Caspian watched, leaned down slightly to whisper something in her ear.

A moment later, a brilliant smile bloomed on Lucy's face and with an eager nod, she rushed off to fulfill whatever favor her brother had asked of her.

Caspian turned to Edmund as the younger king straightened, looking slightly uncertain. "Sire?" he queried.

Smiling, Edmund lightly tossed the extra sword back at Caspian (who caught it and returned it to the barrel). A slight bow and he swept his arm forward with a grin, "This way, Your Highness. We might have a rather large audience."

Comprehension (and no small amount of _apprehension_) filled the prince's eyes as he nodded, preceding Edmund out of the armory and through the entrance of the How onto the grassier land outside.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Well-pleased with her efforts, Lucy sat on the edge of the lowest steppe (and resisted the urge to swing her legs) some time later, surrounded by all manner of Narnians—from Centaurs to Fauns, to Satyrs, to Dwarves, to Talking Animals. Apparently, the opportunity to watch their chosen king spar with their legendary king was one many felt would not come again. (But the part of Lucy's heart that stubbornly persisted to cling to hope noted they would be able to see a great deal more than that once Peter and Susan arrived with Trumpkin.)

Edmund had his own reasons for wanting the Narnians there, and not even Lucy was entirely certain what he had planned. She suspected, but did not want to voice it, lest she alter her brother's plans in some way.

It wasn't a terribly formal match. Neither Edmund nor Caspian had stopped to pull on anything other than what they had been wearing yesterday, nor were they scoring the amount of hits per round, as she had seen her two brothers do on occasion. They seemed only to want to test their opponent's skill.

As Lucy watched, Edmund and Caspian unsheathed their swords and started circling each other, feeling for potential openings.

Then Edmund found one…and darted forward, swinging his sword down in a graceful arc.

A _clang_ of metal meeting metal rang out in the clearing as Caspian snapped his sword up and blocked the blow intended for the juncture between his left shoulder and neck. A twist of the prince's wrist caused the two swords to disengage and this time, it was Caspian who darted forward.

Edmund danced out of the way of a thrust aimed for his midsection and swiftly spun on his heels, twisting his wrists up so that steel connected with steel on an upwards swing. Ducking low under a follow-up backhand aimed for his head, her brother swung both his elbow _and _sword hilt at Caspian's stomach.

The prince jumped back and brought his own sword whistling down through the air. Edmund's met it with yet another _clang_ of metal and then he started spinning them rapidly together in large, arcing circles.

Eagerly, Lucy leaned forward, intently watching. This was the move—coupled with another—that had disarmed Trumpkin, who clearly was a master swordsman in his own right. If Caspian somehow managed to outmaneuver this…

Sensing he was in danger of losing his sword, Caspian suddenly kicked out with his heel at Edmund's knee.

Lucy did not need to see Edmund's face as he was forced to twist away and halt the move in mid-strike to know that he was grinning—the prince had successfully kept his sword and in so doing, had earned more than simply Edmund's respect for his swordsmanship skills.

Now the real test would start.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The stress of the match was clearly on Caspian. King Edmund, as many there knew (regardless of whether the Old Tales exaggerated or not), had been one of the single most skilled swordsmen of the Golden Age, matched only by the High King and one or two others in Archenland. That King Caspian was able to keep up with him and, at some points, nearly disarm him, opened up quite a few sets of eyes that day.

So when, after a battering series of backhands and undercuts, Edmund disarmed Caspian with a flick of his wrist, the cheers that erupted from the Narnians were at least as much for Caspian as they were for Edmund.

As Edmund would later tell Lucy, that was exactly what he had intended all along.

Caspian's sword flew straight up in the air, tumbling end over end until Edmund smoothly caught it and crossed both blades in front of him.

With a laugh, holding up both of his palms, Caspian conceded.

In the background, Lucy laughed brightly while a smile quirked Edmund's lips, well-pleased.

As his little sister watched, Edmund, in full view of the Narnians, snapped straight and saluted Caspian with his own sword…before crossing its blade over his chest. A moment later, he slashed it to the right, then slashed it to the left, before thrusting it point down in the ground.

Then he gracefully bowed, presenting Caspian's sword back to its owner.

Lucy, who had grown serious as she watched Edmund, wondered if Caspian understood exactly what her brother's gesture meant: it acknowledged his skills as a swordsman, yes, but it also acknowledged Caspian's right to Narnia's kingship and gave him Edmund's blessing.

The Narnians knew, and roared their approval as a stunned and wordless Caspian accepted back his sword. Edmund stayed in his bow.

Lucy gave a sad smile. She knew that he would never kneel to Caspian, even though this gesture had the same amount of power behind it. No. The only people he would ever kneel to were Aslan (and he wasn't a person, really)…and Peter.

By doing _this_, however, Edmund was pledging himself to Caspian's fight.

Humbled and touched, Caspian drew Edmund out of his bow with a smile.

Unable to resist anymore, Lucy gave another bright laugh and, clattering down the worn stone steps, pattered up to where the two boys were standing together, throwing her arms around both of them. As he and Edmund hugged her back, Caspian gave a hearty laugh.

At supper that evening, Trufflehunter the Badger would tell them that that was the happiest he'd heard him in months.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Much later that night, when everyone else was abed and finding himself unable to sleep, Edmund slipped out into one of the many halls that radiated from the Table Chamber.

It would be two days tomorrow that he and Lucy had been separated from Susan and Peter. Two days of worrying and waiting, two days of not knowing and always fearing…two days of praying, painfully and hopefully, that their older siblings really _were_ coming...

"_Aslan, will Susan and Peter be all right?"_

Lucy had asked that question yesterday, just after their romp. The Lion had responded as he usually did to such questions:

"_That is not for me to say, Dear One. Perhaps they are well. Perhaps they __will__ be well. Or perhaps they will not. You have your own adventure ahead of you, and so, they have theirs."_

It hadn't been the answer either of them wanted, but both of them knew that there was work to be done, and no matter how much they might wish and worry and wonder, there was no guarantee that Peter and Susan would join them.

But they hoped, and it hurt.

"_Hope springs eternal, brother; though you may sometimes have to leave me, I will always find you again."_

Edmund clenched his eyes shut and leaned hard against a nearby wall, silent tears tracking down his cheeks as he pressed his forehead to the rough stone and fisted his hands against the rock.

He wanted his brother back. He wanted him safe. He wanted him whole. But what he wanted had never been much of an issue, because the last time he'd _wanted_ something as badly as this, he'd gone to the White Witch.

You really don't place much value on what you want after something like that.

At that moment, there came a sudden scrape of metal along stone behind him. Then a white-hot explosion of pain in the back of his head and stars across his vision as his forehead was slammed into hard rock.

His last thought as he blacked out was that if his assailant did not kill or otherwise maim him, Peter _would_.

* * *

_Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough troubles of its own—Matthew 6:34_

* * *

_Tbc._

_**Footnote:**_ Longest chapter in this story to date. Is it too choppy? I found it easier to split it into various sections this time around, but I'm not sure if my transitions were smooth enough. I hope they were!

Best Regards,

Sentimental Star


	6. The Healing of Hurts

**WARNING:** Don't forget—these next few chapters (at _least_) are going to be one messy, emotional, angst-filled roller coaster so you may want to have a few tissues at hand.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you for your wonderful reviews—I'm glad everyone likes this story so much!

_**Author's Note:**_ All right, so I plan on getting out at least one more chapter next week of this story, but after that, I'm going on a two-week vacation (and possibly a little bit more) and will not have Internet access during that time. That's not to say, however, I'll stop writing this story. :grins: I don't think I could stop now, even if I wanted to. It was just begging to be written! Anyway, just a heads up and I'll remind you next post, too! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intense moments and blood)

_**Summary:**_What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(6)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 268 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Six: The Healing of Hurts_

* * *

"_Stop, stop, stop," said Doctor Cornelius. "You go on too fast. The Witch is dead. All the stories agree on that. What does Nikabrik mean by calling on the Witch?"_

_The gray and terrible voice which had spoken only once before said, "Oh, __is__ she?"_

_And then that shrill, whining voice began, "Oh, bless his heart, his dear little Majesty needn't mind about the White Lady—that's what __we__ call her—being dead. The Worshipful Master Doctor is only making game of a poor old woman like me when he says that. Sweet Master Doctor, learned Master Doctor, who ever heard of a witch that really died? You can always get them back."_ (6)

* * *

It was not a pleasant waking for Lucy. Her shoulders ached, her wrists felt rubbed raw, and the first sight that met her eyes was of Edmund bound to a stone column on his knees, slumped forward unconscious over the ropes, and bleeding from a gash just above his left temple.

She hastily smothered a cry, not wanting their captors (whoever _they_ were) to know she was awake.

Sitting up with great caution and no small amount of difficulty from where she had been laying on the stone floor, she squirmed closer to him as best she could (realizing only now _why_ her wrists were so raw) and fumbled with her bound hands to locate her brother's pulse. Tears stung her eyes once she did; although slightly sluggish, it still beat strongly against her fingers.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she winged a silent prayer of thanks to Aslan. No matter what anyone might say, Edmund was a survivor and Lucy had never been more grateful for that knowledge than she was now.

Reassured her brother would live (and that was often a blessing in and of itself), she opened her eyes and took quick stock of their situation: they were in the Table Chamber—she had guessed as much, though she had no idea how either of them had gotten there (her brother's head injury shed some light on the matter, however). As the chamber deepest (and least frequented) in the bowels of Aslan's How, she knew it was a perfect hideaway for fugitives and prisoners—ironically appropriate given what had passed here years upon years ago.

Her cordial and dagger, thankfully still on her belt, were displayed prominently (and she had no doubt, tauntingly) on the Stone Table, alongside Edmund's own sword belt (a sword, she surmised bitterly, that he hadn't even had the chance to use).

Her own hands were tied rather tightly behind her back, but she was anguished to note that apparently knocking her brother unconscious hadn't been enough for the beasts. Ropes held up his limp body against the stone column and tied his hands behind his back, the knots that held them nastier and crueler than hers, as the slow trickle of blood flowing down the side of his bound wrists attested to.

He was in sorry shape, and Lucy bit her bottom lip viciously as she scooted closer to him. Ducking underneath her brother, grateful that she had at least this amount of freedom to move, the younger queen gently pushed him upright with her shoulder, using her own body as Edmund's support.

Pressing her forehead against his cheek, she turned towards his ear and whispered, "Edmund."

He stirred against her with a faint moan.

She repeated, a bit firmer, "_Edmund._"

A small groan. "Lu?" slurred, as he blinked his eyes open and took in the blurry outline of his little sister pressed against him.

Lucy nearly started crying when he turned to her. "Oh, _Ed_!"

"Where…where…?" before he could even begin to form a coherent question, the echoes of voices reached them from the corridor that opened onto the dais above them.

"_Shh_!" Lucy hissed to Edmund. "Shut your eyes."

Given that he was only semi-conscious, Edmund needed little incentive to comply.

Carefully, keeping her forehead pressed against her brother's cheek, she watched the hallway's exit out of the corner of one eye.

"They're getting closer," she began narrating softly for the older boy, "three, maybe four sets of footsteps. One sounds like they keep stumbling every few feet--"

She broke off with a sudden gasp. Edmund's eyes flew open (even as he winced), and he tried to look around her, but Lucy wouldn't let him. "What? What's wrong?" he breathed urgently, for she had stiffened against him.

"Oh, Edmund!" she cried softly. "It's Caspian! They've got Caspian!" Righteous anger wove itself into her voice. "The brutes! They've tied him up even more tightly than you!"

There was a scuffle and then a cry, distinctly that of the prince.

"Lucy, we've got to get him out of here!" Edmund hissed back frantically, now fully aware (or as aware as one can be with a concussion). "Who's with him? What's going on now?"

"Nikabrik's just tied him to the Stone Table," she replied, voice trembling just the slightest bit as she watched the rough way the Dwarf handled their friend, shoving him back harshly against its broken edge before looping the ropes around the Table's supports and pulling them taut. An involuntary cry worked its way out of Caspian's throat, causing both Golden Monarchs to flinch. "There's a Hag and a Wer-Wulf, too. _Fell_ Creatures, Ed! I thought they'd be extinct!"

Edmund blew out his breath heavily, shutting his eyes. /Of course. Of _all_ the Creatures it could be…/ He opened his eyes. "What are they doing now?" he murmured, forcing himself to ignore the spinning of his head.

"The Wer-Wulf looks like he's drawing some sort of circle around Caspian…oh, Ed, he's menacing him, too! Snapping at his feet! Nikabrik's got a knife at Caspian's throat and the Hag--"

That's when the two heard a strangled cry from Caspian. "_Stop_! Nikabrik, you don't--"

"Quiet, boy!" Nikabrik's voice snarled, and Lucy saw him press the dagger he held a little harder against Caspian's neck. There was a nasty grin on his lips. "You're going to help whether you like it or not."

"'Help?'" Edmund hissed anxiously to Lucy. "Help with what?"

The younger girl stifled a cry of her own as the Hag's voice suddenly rose in a terrifying chant. "Edmund, the Hag has the White Witch's _wand_!"

IOIOIOIOIOI

He could have panicked. Sat there and panicked and refused to move: his head was spinning, he had a nauseating headache, any small movement and his stomach threatened to end up on the floor…

But he wouldn't. He couldn't. Not with so much at stake, not with so much riding on this moment. He'd never been one to lose his head, and he refused to start now—no matter _who_ was on the verge of being reborn.

"Lu, how badly injured are you?" he demanded softly.

She could have taken that the wrong way entirely, could have thought that he believed her wounded, or injured, or touched in the head. But she didn't. "Not even," she whispered back. "Why?"

He'd never been gladder in his life for his little sister's level head. "Where are our weapons?"

"On the Stone Table."

"If you were freed, could you get to them in time? Without being noticed?"

"Not without being noticed, but yes, I could get to them." She frowned at him. "Ed, I know where you're going with this, but what about you? The first thing they'll do is threaten me with you—_especially _when you're helpless!"

In spite of everything, in spite of the rocketing pain in his skull and the aching of his body, Edmund scowled at her, and it was so unexpected and so welcome that Lucy had to bite back a laugh. "I am _not_ helpless!" he hissed.

Struggling to keep her face straight and in some part of her mind utterly scandalized that they were able to tease at a time like this, Lucy returned lightly, "Fine. Temporarily out of commission, then."

Her brother's scowl turned even fiercer. "Now is _not_ the time, Lu! Don't worry about me—I'll…I'll think of something."

"You'll _not_ think of something, because I already know what to do," she retorted quietly, starting to shimmy around underneath him, her hands tugging clumsily at his boot.

Edmund frowned at her and demanded softly, "Lucy, what are you _doing_?"

"Shut up a minute, Ed!" she hissed. "You still carry a dagger everywhere with you in your boot, right?"

Annoyance and worry gave way to outright astonishment on her brother's face. Lucy would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so urgent. "Well?" she demanded in a hushed whisper.

Instead of answering, Edmund shifted behind her, struggling to free up his left leg to give her better access. "Can you get it?" he hissed a moment later when it was laying awkwardly to his side.

With some careful maneuvering, she managed to grasp the hilt that poked the slightest bit over the rim of Edmund's boots with both hands and drew it out of its sewn-in leather sheath.

"Got it," she whispered back. "Now what?"

"The ropes tying me to the column, can you reach to cut them?"

Her answer was quick downwards slash. Edmund felt the ropes give way and drop to the floor. He would have toppled forwards, too, had Lucy not been right there in front of him.

As his head spun and his stomach lurched, he took several quick, gasping swallows to keep the nausea at bay.

"Are you all right?" Lucy hissed, pressing back against him and keeping the dagger well clear of his body.

"Not really, no," he gulped, gratefully allowing her to support him for the moment. "But never mind that. I'm going to turn now, Lu. As soon as I brush your hands, hand me the knife and we'll get you free."

It took some painstaking maneuvering, but they managed it. The instant she was released, Lucy turned to face him, grabbing the dagger from his hands and gently bracing her own just above his wrist.

"This is going to hurt, Ed," she whispered, placing the edge of the blade against the underside of the ropes as she met his dark eyes…and barely gave him time to register that before she cut cleanly through his binds with a quick, upwards swipe.

Biting back a cry as his hands came free, Edmund slumped heavily back against his sister, breathing through the pain as she gingerly rubbed the circulation back into his veins.

"Th-thanks, Lu," he panted weakly when she had finished.

At that moment, a blast of frigid air swept through the room. Followed almost immediately by a blinding, brilliant blue light flashing in the background.

Caspian cried out. "_No_! This isn't what I want!"

Whirling to face the direction it had come from, desperate to see the state their friend was in, Edmund and Lucy were horrified to discover that Caspian, at some point, had been cut loose and hauled to his feet, one hand pinned behind his back by the Wer-Wulf (a Creature they both knew to be obscenely strong) and the other held out and slashed with a wicked looking dagger by the Hag.

In front of Caspian, a solid wall of ice blocked the arched doorway that had framed Aslan's relief. Neither needed to look any closer to know who was contained within it.

Surging to his feet (and nearly stumbling), Edmund whipped around to face Lucy as she scrambled to her own, gasping out, "Lu, can you make it?"

She frowned, noting that his eyes were not entirely focused. "Can _you_?"

He didn't answer. "Can you take them?"

"With Aslan's help," she returned. "Now go!"

IOIOIOIOIOI

Her brother placed a clumsy, off-center kiss on her forehead before splitting away. Lucy herself did not turn to watch. As Edmund, dagger in hand, ran haphazardly towards Caspian, the ice, and the Witch, the younger girl whispered a fervent prayer ("Aslan keep him safe.") and ran at the Stone Table and her belt.

Luck was not with either of them.

Edmund, clearly the more unsteady of the two, careened straight into another stone pillar as he stumbled over one of his forgotten ropes, smashing his shoulder into the iron torch sconce bolted to the rock. Unable to stifle a cry of pain, he reeled sideways but kept running, intent on finishing this before any more damage could be done.

But his cry had caught the attention of the Fell Creatures and Nikabrik, who finally realized that neither of their prisoners were being very good captives.

And in that moment, everything erupted.

Almost to the Stone Table, Lucy screamed as the Hag and Nikabrik dove at her. Edmund, already halfway across the floor, heard her scream and wheeled, but was a little more preoccupied with the Wer-Wulf that suddenly lunged at his throat.

An arrow, distinctive in its red fletching, found its mark just as the Hag raised her dagger to strike Lucy, and Susan suddenly came flying out of a nearby doorway, rushing at full speed towards her little sister.

As the Hag flew into a far stone column, very clearly dead, Trumpkin, who had been following on the older queen's heels, collided with Nikabrik in a clash of armor and steel.

Grabbing Lucy, Susan shoved the younger girl behind her, backing them up until they were pressed against the Stone Table, another arrow already in the string and aimed at Nikabrik.

Aware, somewhere, that she was crying quite forcefully, Lucy grabbed her belt and clutched it to her chest…just as Peter sped past them all.

With an anguished cry as the Wer-Wulf lunged at his younger brother, Peter ducked under the Creature and rammed his shoulder into Edmund, sending the younger boy sprawling backwards on the hard stone floor. Twisting to thrust his sword at the Wer-Wulf's belly, the older king dodged the snapping jaws and rolled to come up directly between the beast and his fallen brother.

With an unearthly howl as it lost its intended prey, the Wer-Wulf twisted away and landed on all fours, snapping at Peter's sword. "Ed, _go_!" Peter's voice was rough and ragged as he cried that, and never once did he look away from the Wer-Wulf's eyes (or its jaws).

Barely having time to register his older brother's presence, let alone object to the command, Edmund struggled to his feet, ignoring the nauseating spin of his head, and scrambled up onto the dais, still somehow managing to keep his dagger. Mere seconds later, he was behind the wall of ice. Able only to raise the dagger and pray to Aslan for strength, Edmund slammed the dagger into the ice and the White Witch's back with a half-choked yell.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"Peter—Caspian!" Lucy's cry reverberated around the Table Chamber as their older brother scrambled to his feet, gasping, after having been knocked over by the Wer-Wulf as he shoved his sword into the beast's breast.

Barely pausing for breath, the older boy yanked his sword out of the Fell Creature and tackled the prince, sending him careening to the floor.

He had not, however, taken into account what would happen once he himself was within the confines of the circle.

Horror-struck, Lucy could only watch from the circumference of Susan's arms as Peter himself became ensnared in the White Witch's net of seduction.

"Peter, dear…I've missed you."

/No!/ Lucy thought, struggling frantically against Susan's suddenly vise-like hold as Peter went still, seemingly enraptured by the Witch's snow-white figure. "_Peter_!" she cried.

Peter appeared not to hear her.

"Come, just one drop…" the Witch beckoned to Peter with her hand.

Peter hesitated.

"You know you can't do this on your own…" prodded, with all the power of her chill, feminine wile.

Peter lowered his sword.

And at that moment, the ice wall cracked. As it tumbled down with a roaring crash, Lucy looked up to see Edmund standing in front of Aslan's relief, dagger still drawn.

Her younger brother had not been aware of their older brother's plight—that much was clear. When the ice shattered and came cascading down around him, he looked just as stunned to see Peter standing within the circle at the foot of the dais as Peter was stunned to see him standing at the top of it.

And when Peter's presence registered—_really _registered—his dark brown eyes went wide as the dagger clattered on the stone steps. Staring at their brother in dumb shock, face paling, Edmund opened his mouth to say something…and crumpled to the floor.

Lucy shrieked. Susan screamed. Caspian lurched to his feet. And Peter lunged up the dais.

In a matter of seconds, all four children had reached Edmund.

Lucy yanked out her cordial as the others fell to their knees around her, Caspian gently urging Edmund to uncurl.

With a pained gasp, Edmund did so, more or less falling backwards against Peter who carefully slid in behind him, long legs stretched to either side of the younger boy's body and arms wrapped around his brother's chest. Tilting his head back into Peter's shoulder, Edmund cracked open pain-glazed eyes to peer up hazily at him. "I know," he finally gasped, shuddering in the older boy's hold. "You had it sorted."

Peter shook his head desperately, very clearly telling Edmund he did _not_ have it sorted, shoulders jerking with several stifled sobs as tears ran freely down his cheeks.

"Edmund," Lucy's trembling voice drew her younger brother's attention back to her. "Edmund, what hurts?"

The older boy managed a wry smile for her sake. "Everything," he croaked. He took in a deep, shaky breath, "But…" As he trailed off, he slowly pulled his hands away from where they had been clutching his abdomen.

They were covered in blood.

"The wound..." he gulped as a general outcry rose around him. "It's been reopened."

It was exactly where the White Witch had stabbed him with her wand at Beruna.

IOIOIOIOIOI

A shaky Edmund was helped to his feet by Caspian and Susan five minutes later, freshly-healed from Lucy's cordial. A few quiet words from Peter, a kiss on her forehead from Edmund, and the younger girl watched as her brother was guided out of the room by the two older monarchs.

When Lucy was finally left alone with Peter she expected to be angry—hurt because he hadn't believed her, furious because of what he had done to Edmund. But she knew her oldest brother well—nearly as well as Edmund did—and she knew far more than anything she might say, Peter's own conscience would smite him.

And more than any anger or hurt, she had missed him. Missed the brother he had been and the king she had followed; the brother and the king he all too clearly was now.

So when he turned away from the door after he had sent Edmund off with Susan and Caspian, and looked up at her from where he once again stood at the foot of the dais, blue eyes brimming with tears, it was perfectly understandable why she threw those suddenly inconsequential hurts to the wind and rushed down the steps to embrace him.

Just as she barreled into him, Peter's legs gave out, sending him crashing to the roughhewn stone floor of the Table Chamber on his knees. She felt his arms tremble as they caught her against his chest, holding her as close and as tight as he possibly could.

She gave a gasping laugh, and buried her head in his shoulder. "Peter! Oh, Peter! You came! You finally came!"

"Of course, Lu," he slurred thickly. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"We thought…we _hoped_ you might, but…but…"

She felt him release a shuddering breath into her hair. When he spoke again, his voice wobbled dangerously, "Lu?" She looked up at him, blinking back tears. "Will you forgive me?"

Her breath caught in her throat. Drawing herself up, she lightly pushed out of his arms. "It is not my forgiveness you need ask," she advised him softly.

She saw him turn…and glance at the relief of Aslan on the wall directly behind them, face paling slightly and jaw locking. Acceptance, even after all that had happened—_especially_ because of all that had happened—was a hard thing for him to give. But she saw it there, in his eyes, and in the straightening of his bowed back.

Lucy simply shook her head. Proud as she was at seeing that, glad as she was to have their High King back, that was not what she had meant. Gently placing her hand on his cheek and redirecting his gaze back to her, she shook her head again and gave a sad smile, "Not just His," she murmured.

Peter promptly went red with overwhelming emotion, and she knew he understood. The one person he had hurt, more than anyone, was the brother who would never see the need for an apology in the first place.

"But just so you know, Peter," she whispered, leaning forward to tenderly kiss his forehead. "I forgive you."

* * *

_And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a three-fold cord is not easily broken.—Ecclesiastes 4:12_

* * *

_Tbc._

_**Footnote:**_ Well! That was a chapter and a _half_. But I hoped you liked it—it's the chapter that got me writing this story in first place, after all :grins:! Things still aren't completely okay between our favorite characters, so there's guaranteed to be at least several more chapters that follow this one—I hope you stay tuned!

Best Regards,

Sentimental Star


	7. The Mending of Hearts

**WARNING:** _Really_ pay attention to this one, folks. I'm not kidding. There are several extremely difficult, messy, emotional moments in this chapter. I'd advise having a tissue box and a teddy bear anywhere within easy reach.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you one and all for your wonderful reviews! I appreciate each and every one of them.

_**Author's Note:**_ As promised, I've gotten out the seventh chapter of this fic, and it's a big one. Unfortunately not in the sense of length—but I can tell you right now, its average length is more than made up for by what goes on inside it. This isn't a happy one, folks. It's heartbreaking. And I mean that. :grins sheepishly: It's also probably the last one you'll see of this story for a couple of weeks, as I'm going on vacation in four days and will not have Internet access (though, as promised, I will be working on it during the time I'm away). If my muse cooperates, however, there's the chance that I can eke in one more chapter before I go off—but don't quote me on that! I hope you like this chapter as much as you've liked all the others so far!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for difficult moments)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(7)** _Prince Caspian_ pgs. 265-266 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Seven: The Mending of Hearts_

* * *

_Meanwhile Trumpkin and the two boys arrived at the dark little stone archway which led into the inside of the Mound, and two sentinel badgers (the white patches on their cheeks were all Edmund could see of them) leaped up with bared teeth and asked them in snarling voices, "Who goes there?"_

"_Trumpkin," said the Dwarf. "Bringing the High King of Narnia out of the far past."_

_The badgers nosed at the boys' hands. "At last," they said. "At last."_ (7)

* * *

Edmund said not a word as Susan and Caspian helped him along the hallways, and did not doubt that they could feel him trembling lightly in their arms.

When he stumbled, nearly tripping, each set tightened around his waist and shoulders respectively. "Edmund?" Susan demanded, not bothering to conceal her concern.

Wordlessly, the younger boy shook his head, desperately fighting back tears. They were here. Susan and Peter were actually _here_. They had _come_. Peter…_Peter_ had come. He'd come _at last_. He was _back_. And he'd nearly _lost_ him. Once was once too much, and now _this_…

"I'm sorry."

Caspian's quiet voice jerked his attention to the prince as he was gently lowered by the older boy and Susan to the ground a few meters down the hall underneath one of the carvings.

"_You're_ sorry?" the thick, incredulous exclamation was dredged up from the depths of his being and his body shook all the harder.

Caspian cast his eyes down at the ground. "For what happened. I know the Old Tales, Edmund, and what they say about the White Witch. I know what happened to you and…I'm sorry."

Edmund wildly shook his head, releasing a trembling breath and burying his face against the knees he had pulled to his chest, feeling Susan sit beside him on the stone floor and wrap her arms back around his waist.

"You can hardly be blamed for what happened, Caspian," he heard her counter softly as he gratefully turned his face into her shoulder. "I'm sure Edmund would say the same if he could."

He thought the prince might have nodded, but did not want to raise his head to look. He felt Caspian's hand rest on his shoulder and rub it a bit as the older boy returned the comfort Edmund had offered him only two days ago (was it two days, now? Edmund couldn't be sure). "Is there anything I can do?" the prince asked quietly, although whether the question was directed at him or Susan, Edmund couldn't be sure.

"Would you mind getting Peter, Caspian? He's the older boy that--"

Edmund heard the smile in Caspian's voice as the prince gently cut off his older sister, "Killed the Wer-Wulf, Lady? Not at all."

Susan gave a faint laugh. "Thank you. And you can call me Susan, you know."

Caspian's response was so quiet, Edmund almost didn't catch it, "I daren't, Lady."

And then the younger king felt him stand, and listened as his footsteps echoed back at them from down the corridor.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"Ed, what on earth did you tell him about me?"

That was the first question Susan asked him when they were alone.

"What?" the indignant, tearful exclamation was muffled by the fabric of his sister's dress. "Nothing!"

"Well you must have said _something_," came her amused, slightly baffled response. "He's intimidated by me!"

Edmund couldn't help himself. Momentarily pulling away, he lifted his head and raised an eyebrow at her. "Intimidated? By Queen Susan the Gentle? Try utterly terrified. I don't think he even called _Lucy_ that the first time we met. Face it, Su, your beauty is just naturally daunting."

His oldest sister blushed, grinned, and lightly slapped his arm. "I'll take that as a compliment. Besides, Ed, Lucy's the beautiful one. I'm just pretty."

Edmund shakily rolled his eyes. "Fine. You're both gorgeous. Happy now?"

"All right, all right, I give in," Susan laughed. "Yes, I'm very pleased."

"Good." Releasing a trembling breath, Edmund dropped his face back against her shoulder and tightly squeezed her around the waist. He felt her arms come up to wrap around his shoulders and felt her press a kiss to his hair.

"I'm sorry we took so long," she whispered after a few minutes.

Edmund gave a wet, derisive snort. "Su, the fact that you are here at all is more than enough for me. Lu will say the same."

"I'm sorry about England, too, though," she murmured softly. "Peter and I both forgot how much you two had grown in Narnia. We forgot that you were also our best friends, and not just our little sister and baby brother."

Edmund squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face a little harder into Susan's shoulder as light tremors started wracking his body again.

"Su?" he finally asked, voice strangled.

"Mmm?" he felt her gently starting to rock him.

"…How was Peter?"

He heard her sigh, and felt her breath ghost through his hair. "Out of his mind with worry, especially--"

Her arms suddenly tightened painfully.

Frowning slightly, Edmund moved to lift his head. "Su?"

She just shook her own and tenderly pressed his back against her shoulder. "I think Peter should be the one to tell you that."

"But--"

"Shh, it's not important right now. Although I'd imagine to Peter it might be. He was a wreck without you, Ed. I tried my best, but…" she shrugged helplessly, resting her chin on his head.

Edmund drew in a choked breath and nuzzled into her shoulder. "I'm sure it was more than enough," slurred thickly as she began rocking him again.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Several minutes later, at the crunch of footfalls in the corridor, Edmund felt Susan snap her head up. "There you are," she breathed, relaxing marginally, before gently nudging him. "Ed, Peter's here. Come now…"

Letting out a shuddering breath, Edmund carefully turned his face away from his older sister's shoulder and glanced up. Peter stood at their feet, carrying Edmund's sword belt slung over his right shoulder. Just behind him came Caspian and Lucy, the prince's arm wrapped comfortingly around the younger girl's shoulders.

Slightly surprised, the younger king raised an eyebrow at his little sister and their friend. "Lu?" and his voice wavered the tiniest fraction. "I-is everything…is everything…all right?"

He saw her blink back tears and nod with a somewhat tremulous smile. "I think I'm just a little overwhelmed right now," she whispered, voice small.

When Susan made a quiet noise of concern beside him, Edmund glanced at her as she gently released him and watched as she stood to join Lucy. He had just enough time to see her tenderly wrap an arm around their little sister's waist as a faintly-smiling Caspian stepped away before movement from Peter redirected his attention.

His older brother slowly knelt on the floor in front of him, blue eyes a stormy, conflicting mass of guilt and love as they locked solidly on Edmund's own.

"E-Ed?" his nickname was a cracked whisper from his brother's lips.

Drawing in a sharp breath as Peter's fingers brushed his chin, Edmund rapidly blinked back tears, vividly aware of the mounting ache in his chest. He could feel the slight tremors coursing through his older brother's body as Peter's hand fell to grip his shoulder and his own trembled in response.

For several long, endless seconds they stared at each other, neither quite daring to reach out, but neither quite willing to pull back, either.

It was Peter who finally moved, although, in the end, it didn't matter because Edmund was the first to initiate the embrace. Somewhere between Peter's hand moving to curl around the back of Edmund's head and the younger boy's arms coming up to wrap around the older boy's neck, the two brothers found themselves tangled together in a mess of limbs and tears.

Kissing and crying, Peter pulled Edmund flush to his body, holding him tightly around the waist as the younger boy muffled his sobs in the older teen's shoulder. Into Edmund's neck he murmured, "I'm sorry…I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" over and over until his brother cried himself straight into sleep.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It was as he was being lowered into the blankets by Peter that Edmund woke up some time later. "Nnngh," he groaned, owlishly blinking his eyes open in the torchlight of the sconces. "Peter?" muttered sleepily as he peered up at the tired face hovering above him.

"Shh, Ed," a trembling kiss was pressed to his forehead. "Shh. It's all right," something that sounded worryingly like a breath-sob broke through the silence of the room Edmund had shared with Lucy, "I promise it's all right. I'm sorry I woke you."

Frowning, rapidly recovering his awareness, Edmund tightened his arms around Peter's neck and used that to pull himself up until he was sitting at eye level with his brother. "_You_ don't look all right," observed softly, as he critically examined the face mere inches from his own.

Peter glanced away.

Edmund's frown deepened. Gently catching Peter's chin, he forced the older teenager's gaze to meet his own.

Peter tried to look down.

Edmund would have none of it. He saw Peter's eyes go slightly wide as he firmly pressed his face into his brother's neck. "_Talk_ to me, Peter," in spite of his best efforts, a hint of frustration worked its way through. "I can't help you otherwise."

The short, sharp gasps for air against his cheek told Edmund that his older brother was well on his way to a complete and total breakdown.

But a hand reached up, and trembling fingers brushed over his face, tracing his eyes, his nose, his cheeks…To Edmund it felt as though Peter were re-memorizing him.

When his brother's fingers grazed his lips, Edmund gently caught them. "Pete?" he asked softly, pulling away to study the older boy's face in concern.

Releasing a shaky breath as he shut his eyes, Peter lowered his forehead to rest against the hand he had pressed against Edmund's chest, apparently listening to his younger brother's heartbeat. Not fully understanding, knowing only that something was wrong, Edmund lifted the hand he had captured to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

There was a hitched sob into his chest. "Don't…you shouldn't…"

Edmund frowned, alternately rubbing and gently kneading Peter's quivering shoulders and back with his free hand. "Shouldn't what, Peter?" He threaded his fingers through his older brother's lengthening hair and started stroking it as the other boy's trembling became even more pronounced. "You need a haircut," muttered absently.

Peter snorted, sputtered, and started crying. "This…you shouldn't do this—_be_ like this. So…kind…so _you_…I—I _hurt_ you, Edmund. I nearly _lost_ you. I _thought_ I lost you yesterday!"

"Yesterday?" Edmund's frown deepened. He gave his brother's hair a light tug. "Peter."

It was a simple command to talk, and if Peter wanted to avoid bodily harm, he would tell him.

Apparently, he did. Taking in a deep breath as his shaking hands clutched Edmund's shoulders, Peter lightly pushed away and raised his head to look up at him.

Edmund sucked in a sharp breath. Tears sparkled, falling from clouded blue eyes, and in them, echoing from the depths of his brother's soul…_grief_. Such horrible, heart wrenching grief.

Sweet _Aslan_, what could have hurt his brother so badly? The only time he'd ever seen Peter's eyes like this was when…

His own breathing hitched. /No. Oh, no. He _can't_ have…! Is _this_ what Su meant?/ "What did you find?" choked, although he suspected he already knew.

Peter's next breath was half-sob, half-gasp, and shook something awful. But he brought his pack around to rest on his knees and reached in with tremor-wracked hands. He emerged seconds later, tenderly cradling a tabard-wrapped bundle and smothering another sob as he gently unwrapped it.

Edmund's shattered bow lay against the scarlet fabric.

Its owner stifled a cry.

"We…we found this…" Peter's voice hitched, "at the foot of the rocks…on the far side of the gorge. We…we thought that you had…"

Edmund immediately pulled Peter back against his chest as his brother's voice gave out and the older boy's face dropped into his hands.

A keening wail rose from Edmund's shoulder.

IOIOIOIOIOI

For what seemed like hours, Edmund held him like that. Rocking him. Kissing him. Trying to drive away the agony and the ache with the living warmth of his body.

There were a thousand words he could have said, and a thousand words he _should_ have said. But Edmund had never been one for empty platitudes of comfort when they weren't true, and knew that any words he _might_ have said would have been woefully inadequate.

It was only when Peter had cried himself out, clumsily kissing at Edmund's fingers as they came down to brush at his damp cheeks, that the younger boy was able to say what he had been wanting to all along: "I would willingly die a thousand times more, Peter," he murmured, "if it meant you would live."

* * *

_Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and whither thou livest, I will live…Whither thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. Let naught but death part thee from me—Ruth 1:16-17_

* * *

_Tbc._


	8. The Reconciling of Swords

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you, all of you, for your wonderful reviews and for being so patient!

_**Author's Note:**_ _Equalis fratres_ (which is explained in the chapter below) has replaced _fratrum aequalis_—thanks, _**Gemina**_! Please enjoy this long-awaited chapter—it's gone through so many revisions I've lost count! :sheepish smile:

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(8)** _Prince Caspian_ pgs. 385-386 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia _(Paperback)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Eight: The Reconciling of Swords_

* * *

"_Lucy," said Susan in a very small voice._

"_Yes?" said Lucy._

"_I see him now. I'm sorry."_

"_That's all right."_

"_But I've been far worse than you know. I really believed it was him—he, I mean—yesterday. When he warned us not to go down to the fir wood. And I really believed it was him tonight, when you woke us up. I mean, deep down inside. Or I could have, if I'd let myself. But I just wanted to get out of the woods and—and—oh, I don't know. And whatever am I to say to him?"_

"_Perhaps you needn't say much," suggested Lucy. _(8)

* * *

Early the next morning, Lucy crept through the silent halls and corridors of Aslan's How in pursuit of her wayward brothers. She had left Susan to find Caspian, telling her sister only, when she had asked, that she wanted to find Peter and Edmund for breakfast. But Susan had smiled, not fooled in the least, and waved her ahead.

Susan knew, as Lucy did, that their brothers were still trying to heal the rift that had grown between them in England. They had found the boys curled together, fast asleep, last night when they returned to the room previously only occupied by Lucy and Edmund, and it had sent hope wildly pounding through the younger girl's heart. It had also made her all the more determined to mend her own friendship with Susan which, although not quite so badly fractured as the one between Peter and Edmund, had nonetheless suffered for being in England.

But first, she had to make sure Edmund was okay. She did not doubt Susan would soon follow, likely with Caspian in tow, in order to assure herself of the same with Peter. It was something the two sisters had begun long ago in Narnia—their brothers were strong, fine kings (_great_ kings if you asked Lucy), but the instant one of them fell, the other became a liability unto himself. Lucy and Susan stepped in then, Oreius or one of their other friends if neither of the queens were there, and that was why their reign in Narnia was called the Golden Age.

Somewhere over the years it had become second nature, and often, Lucy was the one to fill that role with Edmund while Susan had taken on the daunting task of doing the same for Peter. Of course, Edmund was slightly more receptive to it than Peter, who disliked _any_ of his younger siblings taking on the role of his protector.

That had been the basis of most of his rows with Edmund, actually, and Lucy had had her work cut out for her whenever such a situation arose. She (and Susan) had even resorted to drugging their brothers on occasion when they became particularly unreasonable, and she was absurdly grateful she'd not had to use such tactics on this adventure.

/Although/ she reflected wryly, heading for an upper level of Aslan's How, /now that Peter's more himself, I shouldn't get my hopes up./

Whatever Miraz's plans were, and however they panned out, Lucy did not doubt that her brothers would be right in the thick of it.

"Lucy, wait up."

Susan's voice rang out in the corridor and she heard her older sister's footsteps pattering up behind her.

With a smile, Lucy stopped, turning towards the sound, and watched as the older girl joined her. "Where's Caspian, Su?"

Susan gave a slightly breathless laugh. "That boy, I swear…he has to be the politest man I've ever met!"

"Even more than Rabadash?" Lucy teased warmly, unable to help herself.

Susan pulled herself up primly as they began walking, but the laughter sparkling in her eyes belied it. "Rabadash wasn't polite. He was simpering."

Lucy grinned. "Or perhaps it's just you," she suggested playfully. "You _are_ considered the most beautiful woman since Queen Swanwhite, after all."

Susan rolled her eyes tenderly. "Don't remind me, Lu. Ed's already teased me incessantly about having beauty that's 'naturally daunting.' Apparently, Caspian's utterly terrified of me and we're both gorgeous, so he's fairly confident he won't hear anything to the contrary."

Lucy giggled. "Gorgeous, huh? That's a high compliment, coming from Ed."

Susan sighed, suddenly serious, and rubbed the back of her neck. "Yes, I know. And I'm a little worried about what he's going to say to Peter, Lu. You know how he is. He never says anything unless he means it and frankly, after the way they've been this past year…I'm just afraid that he'll be a little too harsh."

It was Lucy's turn to sigh. "And doubtless regret it later. But you know," muttered, as she crossed her arms over her chest and faced front, "he has every _right_ to be harsh." She turned to Susan with a slight frown as they walked, her own eyes very serious, "I forgave Peter the moment we were left alone in the Table Chamber, Susan, but with Edmund…Ed will never admit it, Su, but Peter hurt him. _Badly_. And he never even noticed! He was too wrapped up in his own worries and too concerned about starting the next fight to even stop a minute and show Edmund that he still cared!"

Susan was quiet, and glanced sidelong at Lucy. "Almost like I was too worried about adjusting back to life in England to notice how much you missed me?" asked softly.

Lucy clamped down on her bottom lip and willed herself not to cry. Adept at reading people though Edmund was, this was one thing only Susan would have been able to see.

She gave a single nod.

Susan looped her arm through Lucy's and clasped it to her tightly. "I'm really sorry, Lucy," she whispered. "I did believe you, you know. When you said you saw Aslan across the gorge—I really did believe you. But I didn't want to say anything because I wasn't sure and—and—oh, _I _don't know. You've always been right about things like that and I can't think why I didn't remember it before. I know you'll probably say not to worry about it and that it's all right—you were crying so hard last night and hugging me so much that it sort of said it all by itself. But it _does_ matter, Lu, and I wanted to make sure you knew that."

Lucy bowed her head and rested it against Susan's shoulder, gripping her older sister's arm tightly back. "I won't say it didn't hurt, Su," she replied lowly. She took in a long, deep breath and held her sister's arm a little tighter, "but then…I wasn't much better, you know. I didn't even try to understand where you were coming from, just got angry at you for treating me like a little girl and forgetting that we used to be more than sisters."

Susan winced slightly. "I know. I'm sorry." She hesitated and almost didn't ask, "Can we go back to that, Lu? Go back to being friends again? I-I missed you, you know. Not just my little sister." She fell quiet a minute. "My best friend," she finally added softly.

Lucy gave a wet laugh and pulled away as they continued their walk (having stopped when Susan started in on her apology). "Now that you didn't even need to _ask_."

Susan gave a shaky grin and gently twirled her sister around. "Then I won't."

"Susan?" Lucy asked when she stopped twirling.

"Yes?"

"You still haven't told me where Caspian is."

IOIOIOIOIOI

It turned out Caspian was in the armory. He had parted from Susan almost as soon as she had found him, insisting that he did not wish to intrude. Lucy called him out on it soundly when they joined him half an hour later.

"Goodness, Caspian," she teased warmly, "you'd think you were _unimportant_, nothing like a _king_, certainly. If you were any more humble we'd simply sweep you beneath a door mat and be done with it."

The prince shrugged shyly. "This is the first all four of you have been together in a number of days, Queen Lucy. I did not want to take you away from your siblings."

"Caspian," Lucy responded patiently, "what did we tell you last night?"

The prince rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but did not try to conceal their warmth. "That no matter the difference in time or place, all sovereigns of Narnia are family," repeated dutifully, with a small grin.

"Good!" the younger girl retorted with a bright laugh, dropping a kiss on his cheek and gently swatting his arm. "Don't forget it."

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Susan hiding a smile. She turned to her older sister with a faint pout. "What?"

Susan laughed outright. "Lu, if Caspian's face were any redder, he'd be rushed off to a Healer for fear he had caught a fever."

Of course, her remark did nothing whatsoever to help out Caspian—who indeed was very red.

Lucy turned back to him…and smothered another laugh. "Caspian, _honestly_…"

The prince shrugged helplessly. "I'm not used to being part of a family, Lucy."

The younger girl's eyes softened as she became serious. "Oh, Caspian…"

The older boy shrugged again, sheepish smile on his face. "So you see where I'm coming from."

Lucy sighed. "Caspian--"

But at that moment Susan suddenly cocked her head towards the entrance of Aslan's How, listening intently, and Lucy trailed off, turning to watch her. "Susan?" she asked, worried.

Seeing the older queen's attention focused intently outside, Caspian tensed, his hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword. "Queen Susan?" he asked lowly.

She didn't even notice he had finally called her by the name she'd been trying to get him to since coming here. "Shh!" she hushed him.

While Caspian and Lucy grew more and more worried, she made her way over to the threshold of Aslan's How. All movement stilled, and Lucy was frightened enough that she hissed, "Susan, what is it?!"

She was utterly startled by the large grin her older sister turned to her. "You had no luck finding Ed and Peter, right?"

Frazzled, Lucy managed, "Yes, but--"

"You just needed to know where to look," softly spoken with a fond grin.

Lucy turned sharply at the loud clang of metal against metal, joining her sister where Susan stood in the threshold of the How, gazing out into the rapidly brightening dawn. Her first instinct when she saw their brothers was to panic, particularly because of what Susan had said only half an hour earlier. Then she remembered that this was Edmund, and while Edmund was sometimes unpredictable, one thing about him _always_ remained constant—his loyalty to Peter (to his siblings in general, actually).

A glance at his face confirmed it. Even while her two brothers sparred, she could see a faint smile forming on Edmund's lips.

She let her breath out heavily and exchanged an elated glance with Susan.

No matter the argument, no matter how estranged the two boys had been over the past year, if they could still spar, then everything would be all right. It always worked this way—if Peter and Edmund couldn't find common ground by talking, they found it by sparring, and sparring always worked.

Really, it was a treat to watch them, and she could tell by the awed and appreciative widening of Caspian's eyes as the three of them crept out and settled themselves at the top of the entry ramp outside, that the prince thought so, too.

"This must be like something out of a fairytale for you," Susan observed softly as they sat watching Edmund and Peter spar.

Caspian nodded his head so vigorously, eyes riveted on the other two boys, that Lucy thought it might very well fall off. She stifled a laugh. "He's not the only one," she murmured, nodding back towards the How where everywhere, everyone from Dwarves and Talking Animals, to Satyrs and Fauns—even Centaurs and Minotaurs—had stopped whatever tasks they were doing and were busily engaged in watching their two legendary kings duel, fascinated. That included Glenstorm who, with Trumpkin, had come up behind them, and now had his unwavering attention focused on the two young men.

"Crockery and crumpets," Lucy heard Trumpkin mutter behind her, as Peter executed a complex combination of duck-spin-dart-roll (with an accompanying series of thrust-parry-parry-swing to augment it), "with a teacher like _that_, little wonder King Edmund bested me."

"Oh, it wasn't just him," Susan assured the Dwarf absently, "they had the best swordsmaster anyone could ask for." Which, though it went unnoticed by both girls, produced a fiercely proud expression on Glenstorm's face.

"And I'd say Edmund taught Peter equally well," Lucy added, smiling slightly as she watched Edmund duck under an overhand sweep and fluidly slash left and right several times in quick succession, driving Peter back a few paces.

"I wonder if he'd teach me that," Caspian muttered faintly.

"Ask Glenstorm," Lucy responded with a large grin. "Oreius taught him the initial technique and Ed adjusted it to his liking."

"Your royal brother would be a far superior teacher to me, in that case," Glenstorm observed mildly, and Lucy knew he was both pleased and impressed.

"Lucy, something's happening," Susan murmured suddenly, nudging her sister hard in the side, eyes still with the two boys in front of them.

Slightly startled, Lucy jerked her attention back to their brothers. Her own eyes widened and even teared, as she watched Peter, who until that point had been gradually pressing Edmund closer to the How, suddenly take a very decisive step back and bring his sword up vertically in front of him, startling Edmund enough that he froze in mid-strike.

"Oh, Susan!" she cried. "It's _equalis fratres_!"

Caspian blinked rapidly, turning to her, stunned. "Pardon, Queen Lucy, but _equalis_—_**what**_?"

"_Equalis fratres_," Susan whispered. Stirring from Glenstorm and Trumpkin behind them as Peter suddenly went into a series of graceful down-arcs and twirls, intricate footwork and steps—spinning to the left, pivoting to the right—indicated that the two Narnians were not unfamiliar with the phrase. Indeed, many of the Narnians around them were murmuring fervently among themselves as the dance (really, there was no other way to describe it) played out before them. "It means, roughly, 'equal as brothers.'"

"Edmund learned a variation of it from Oreius," Lucy whispered, continuing for her older sister as the three of them watched Peter begin to spin his sword in large, elegant circles around him. "And Oreius learned it from his grandsire. It's an old, old tradition handed down from the first monarchs of Archenland. The version Edmund knows is the King's Champion Dance you might have heard of in the Tales. Certainly, it's in our Chronicles. That "dance" declares the swordsman's complete fealty to his king. Edmund made sure to perform it whenever he thought Peter needed to see it." Her voice softened even more, "I didn't realize Peter had learned the original version."

/Probably keeping it for exactly this type of occasion, too/ she thought with a fond snort, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks as she watched him enter the final stage of the dance.

This was the most difficult part: the "dancer" had to remain in place , while moving only their upper body in a fluid, complicated motion without any pause between strokes and then…_there_! Peter tossed his sword up in the air and it tumbled end over end, flashing in the sunlight. Smoothly, he caught it by the hilt in his opposite hand behind his back, slashing it down and to the left behind him, and then down and to the right in front, concluding the dance by grasping Rhindon's hilt in both hands and gently thrusting it swordpoint down in the ground as he knelt…and bowed his head.

A hush fell over the Narnians.

"What is the difference between the King's Champion Dance and _equalis fratres_?" Caspian asked, voice barely audible. The scene before them had come to a complete and utter standstill.

Lucy could only shake her head, blinking back more tears. Susan had long ago buried her own in her hands.

"If I may, my King…" Glenstorm spoke up softly. Caspian nodded to him. "In the King's Champion Dance, the "dancer"—the Champion—is usually a lesser lord or king who has vowed to fight for a higher king. Essentially, all honor and strength he possesses—as well as his life; I even venture to say, soul—are the higher king's to command. No such distinction is made in _equalis fratres_. It is just as it says—equal as brothers. The High King has effectively declared King Edmund as his equal, in all ways that truly matter. It is up to King Edmund now, to respond."

Judging from the shock and emotion apparent on Edmund's face, Lucy rather thought the response was fitting.

Gingerly laying aside his own sword, the younger king knelt in front of his brother, cupping his one hand over Peter's right on Rhindon, and reaching out with his other to gently tilt up Peter's chin.

Lucy was just close enough to see the tears that escaped Peter's eyes sparkling in the dawn and the faint smile that touched Edmund's lips.

"King Edmund is very tender with the High King," Caspian observed softly as the younger of the two kings brushed back Peter's hair and rested his hand against the side of the older boy's face.

Lucy looked delighted. "Yes, he is, isn't he?"

Susan's eyes softened as she lifted her head. Her cheeks were wet. "Of course he is. And if you think this is something, wait until you see how they are when their places switch."

Caspian didn't end up waiting long. Peter smiled, and leaned across the space between the two of them, brushing a kiss against Edmund's cheek.

"You see?" the older girl whispered, as tears unwittingly rose in her eyes.

Lucy cleared her throat and started cheering.

* * *

_Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh—Matthew 12:34_

_

* * *

_

_Tbc._


	9. The Unearthing of Truths

**WARNING:** Er…should I say _intense_? This chapter is, in American slang, "the whammy." Lots of angst, emotional messiness, and, quite possibly, tears.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Dedication:**_ This particular chapter is dedicated to _**GoGothGirl**_, whose review spurned the plot bunny for this chapter. Thank you, m'dear!

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you so much for all your reviews! Erm…I just have the slightest inkling that you probably won't be too happy with me at the end of this chapter, so no death threats, please :sheepish smile: I still need to write!

_**Author's Note:**_ Did I say "reconciliation?" :impish grin: Not quite, as you'll see below. It's a long chapter, folks, and the ending…well, let's just say I'm running very, very, _very_ far away after I post this. I hope you enjoy!

_**Rating:**_T/M (for intense moments)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased) (_NO Slash_)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(9)** _Prince Caspian _pg. 387 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Nine: The Unearthing of Truths_

_

* * *

_

_The Dwarf was still speechless and neither of the boys dared to ask if Aslan would follow them. All three drew their swords and saluted, then turned and jingled away into the dusk. Lucy noticed that there was no sign of weariness in their faces: both the High King and King Edmund looked more like men than boys. _(9)

* * *

At the sound of cheering, a startled Edmund whipped his head around to face Aslan's How…and promptly blushed very, very hard.

A bemused Peter pulled back and fixed him with a puzzled look. "Ed?"

If anything, Edmund only blushed harder. "We have an audience, Peter," whispered, as he helped his older brother to his feet.

Peter blinked. "We do?" He turned to face the same direction his brother was looking. "Oh," remarked softly. Something in his face eased…and grew fierce at the same time. "Good," stated firmly.

Incredulous, Edmund turned to stare at him. "Good?" he sputtered. "_Good_? Pete, you're High King and you just--"

"Gave my brother the respect and gratitude that were his due," Peter finished without batting an eye. "Actually, they're long _over_due," admitted softly as he sheathed his sword.

Edmund heaved a quiet, exasperated sigh, but his shoulders eased. "You didn't have to do that," he replied finally, as he bent down to pick up his own sword, swiped it clean, and returned it to its sheath. He straightened as Peter's hand rested between his shoulder blades. "Really, just a simple 'thank you' would have been enough."

Peter swallowed, blinking his eyes as moisture gathered in their corners, gently rubbing his hand in small circles against Edmund's back. "I know," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Edmund groaned. "_Now_ what are you apologizing for?"

Peter sighed miserably. "Everything I should have said or done and didn't. Everything I _shouldn't_ have said or done and _did_…It's a long list, Ed."

A faint scowl covered Edmund's face. "You lug, you can hardly--"

Lucy cleared her throat, and Edmund and Peter glanced at her, startled. They had forgotten they were being watched.

Susan coughed, and indicated the nearby forest. "Just be _careful_," she reprimanded lightly.

Edmund sighed. "Yes, milady." He leaned over and quickly dropped a kiss on Lucy's forehead before reaching out and snagging his brother's sleeve. "Come on, Pete."

Peter pressed a swift kiss to Susan's cheek before ruffling Lucy's hair (she giggled) and following. "See you later, Lu."

As they left the clearing, Edmund faintly heard Caspian's voice asking one of the girls, "Are you certain that was a wise idea?"

Edmund, for his own morbid fascination, wondered if the prince were more concerned about the Telmarines ambushing them…or about he and his brother possibly killing each other.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"Ed, what's wrong?"

They were at the stream now—the same stream Edmund and Lucy had washed up in what seemed like weeks ago. Edmund paced stiffly along the bank while Peter sat and watched with his knees pulled to his chest and his arms lying across them.

"What's wron…Aslan's Mane, Peter!" the younger boy exclaimed raggedly, running his hands through his hair in agitation. "You just performed _equalis fratres_…in front of _everyone_!"

"We didn't know they were watching, Ed," Peter reminded him softly.

"You may as well have!" Edmund cried. Horrified to hear his voice tremble, the younger king spun away from his brother and fell to his knees in the damp grass, dragging his hands shakily through his hair as he took in deep, unsteady breaths trying to rein in the tangled mass of words and hurts that sat heavy on his chest, where it had been growing ever since Peter had returned.

The sparring match had worked all right—he loved sparring, he loved his brother, and he loved sparring _with_ his brother, but the _equalis fratres_ dance, which was long and difficult and so steeped in emotion and significance, had completely undone the tight lid he'd kept over the all-consuming monster in his chest. It would take very little to set it free.

"What's really on your mind, Ed?" Peter's soft voice came from behind him and caused him to start violently, especially when his older brother's hands abruptly curled around his wrists.

Whipping his head around as he lowered his arms, he stared over his shoulder at Peter. The older boy offered a half-shrug and faint smile, hesitantly squeezing his forearms before carefully turning him around by the shoulders. "Ed?" he prompted softly.

Edmund tightly shut his eyes and shook his head. "I can't." His voice was barely audible.

Peter looked like he'd been punched straight in the stomach. "What?"

"I can't tell you," whispered, only slightly louder. "If I do…" His breath caught. "If I do…"

Peter slowly shut his eyes. He still knew his brother well enough to understand what Edmund meant…and cursed himself ten thousand times over for letting things between them get this bad. "I understand," strangled, as he released his brother's shoulders.

Edmund's face tightened. As Peter's hands dropped, he grabbed them between his own and squeezed. Hard.

The response Peter gave was one Edmund had not expected:

There was a sudden hiss of pain, and his older brother's right hand spasmed in his hold.

Edmund's eyes widened. Quickly, he forced it open, ignoring Peter's second hiss of pain, and closely examined it.

His jaw clenched anxiously at the red, inflamed cut that sliced across his brother's palm. "What happened to your hand, Peter?" asked tightly.

Peter blinked, then glanced blankly down at his hand. "Oh," remarked as if he felt he should be more surprised than he was, "I didn't realize…"

There was a slightly vicious hiss from Edmund. "Didn't realize my…did Susan see this?" demanded.

Peter shrugged.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" muttered crossly.

Peter tried half-heartedly to tug back his hand, but Edmund was insistent and did not release him. Exasperation clouded Peter's features, "Honestly, Ed, you don't need to worry about it. It's nothing you should be concerned about."

"I damn well _will_ concern myself about it, Peter Pevensie!" retorted hotly.

Peter frowned, and tugged at his hand a little more adamantly. "Ed, really. You don't need--"

The explosion, when it came, was not one Peter had anticipated:

"That's right, you _don't_ need! You _never_ need!" cried brokenly. Edmund flew to his feet, and Peter watched, dumbstruck, as his brother whirled on him, "You don't _let_ yourself need! How can you, when you're so sodding _convinced_ that no one can make anything right but _you_! You run yourself into the ground, you push everyone away, you _kill_ yourself because you think you're the only one who can fix it! You can never get it through your thick skull that we're here to _help_ you!" Edmund's hands were shaking, even though they were clenched into fists. "You're such a bloody, self-proclaimed _hero_ that you can't even see what you're doing to yourself!"

A second later, ringing silence pervaded the clearing as the echoes of Edmund's voice reverberated against stone and bounced back at the two near the stream.

Peter slowly rose to his feet, his face white and still as he posed a disturbingly soft question to Edmund, "And is that fair? Is that fair, Ed? To say that…"

Edmund appeared to deflate, although he didn't look any less willing to back down. "No," nearly inaudible as a trembling hand rose to cover his mouth and he started shaking his head wildly, "no." There was a hint of a sob on the tail end of his voice now, "God, no." Peter crumbled, even as Edmund did, "It never _was_ fair. You were never supposed to take the entire burden on your shoulders. You were never supposed to give up _your _childhood, _your_ innocence, _your_ happiness…You were never supposed to take Dad's role. You were never supposed to be pushed towards a war you didn't want. You weren't supposed--" Edmund's voice caught on a cry, "You're not a martyr, Peter! You're not perfect and you're not a saint and you're not God and you're not Aslan! You're so bloody _blind_ that you can't even see--"

Peter's hands came up to cradle Edmund's face, cutting his younger brother off in mid-sentence. "--What's right in front of me," he completed softly.

Tears flushed down Edmund's cheeks. Peter winced and slid his arms around the younger boy's shoulders. "You've been wanting to get that off your chest for a while now, haven't you?" remarked quietly.

There was a hiccupped laugh and Edmund leaned his forehead against Peter's shoulder with a small nod. "Twenty years, give or take a few," murmured. "When Daddy left I thought it then, but I could never get it just right, and then boarding school and Narnia came and well…" He shrugged shyly.

Peter blew out a long breath and pulled Edmund close. "_God_," whispered tightly, "what have I done to you?"

Edmund coughed, and gave a strangled half-sob, half-laugh. "I-I don't think you've done anything, really. Except maybe loved me too much," hiccoughed.

"But I--"

Edmund shook his head and leaned a little harder into Peter's chest. "It doesn't matter, Pete," he sighed.

A worried frown flitted across Peter's countenance and he looked as if he'd very much like to dispute that, but in the end he just shook his head, and gave Edmund one hard, final squeeze, stepping back and rubbing his hands slowly up and down his younger brother's arms. "It matters, Ed," he refuted softly, then gave a sigh of his own, "but that's beside the point. I know you're not going to let me out of here without first treating my hand, so let's get that over with, hmm?"

"And where exactly is it that you think you're going?" Edmund asked with a thick chuckle, drawing him over to the stream and kneeling beside the water as he began to dig around in the pouches on his sword belt for a clean piece of cloth.

Peter crouched until he could sit knee to knee with the younger man and allowed Edmund to take his right hand once a cloth had been produced. As Edmund dunked the cloth into the water where it pooled briefly by his knee before continuing on its course, Peter shrugged with a faint smile, "Nowhere, really. But I thought perhaps after breakfast we might spar a bit more." His smile became somewhat more pronounced and he lightly chucked Edmund under the chin as his brother turned back to him and wrung out the cloth. "I _have_ missed my sparring partner, you know, and I'm sadly out of practice."

Edmund gave a small, derisive snort as he bent over Peter's hand and gingerly started cleaning it with the wet cloth.

The older boy gave a slight hiss. "Of course, that's assuming I can actually _hold_ my sword."

Edmund rolled his eyes fondly, but lightened his touch. "I think you'll manage. You did it once already. Plus, you took on a full grown—rather nasty, I might add—Wer Wulf with an injured hand. I think you can handle your little brother in another friendly sparring match." He was silent a few moments, and when he next spoke, his voice was very quiet, "I never actually thanked you for that, did I?"

Peter hissed again. "What?"

Edmund paused, and lifted his eyes to his older brother's. "You saved my life, Peter."

Peter shook his head gingerly. Cupping Edmund's cheek with his free hand, he stroked it with his thumb. "And you saved my soul. It's what we've always done, Ed. You don't need to thank me for that."

Edmund opened his mouth to object, but Peter placed a finger against his lips, "Shh," he murmured. "Accept the compliment for what it is."

The younger king's cheeks tinged faintly, and he bent his head until his dark bangs obscured his eyes, focusing intently on the task in front of him.

He heard a fond chuckle come from Peter above him and blushed harder. "You're as bashful as a maiden in first bloom, Ed," the older king informed him warmly.

Edmund jerked his head up, a fierce blush prominent on his cheeks. "_Peter_!" he sputtered.

The rich laughter of Narnia's High King rang out in the clearing.

IOIOIOIOIOI

As soon as he'd been able to escape from Peter's vigilant eye, Edmund had done so. He was a tangled mess of nerves—warmed to his toes by Peter's obvious regard and affection, but feeling utterly wretched because of the words he'd spoken to his brother (who, incidentally, had taken them with far more grace than he'd ever imagined).

Since Narnia he'd always been brutally honest with himself—and with others. Usually, he managed to temper the truth in situations that called for it, phrasing it delicately and in such a way that no wars were started on his account. But with Peter…with Peter he'd never been completely calm (or logical), not when it came to his brother's health, happiness, or general well-being.

He loved him too much for that.

/It's always him/ Edmund thought with a sigh, rolling an as-yet-uneaten apple between his hands where he sat by himself at the top of the entrance ramp to the How.

He knew why, of course—sort of. It had started the very same day he'd been restored to his family after his time with the Witch:

(Flashback, 1,300 Years By Narnian Reckoning)

_He'd gone off on his own to practice with his sword after Oreius had gone over some basic steps and techniques, still not completely comfortable in the company of those in the camp or even the presence of his siblings. He'd found an isolated knoll overlooking the sea where it crashed against the breakers far below him._

_Soothed by the sound and the relative nearness of the water, he felt his shoulders relax and (quite fluidly) withdrew his sword from its sheath._

_It was a fine sword, centaur-wrought and supple, relatively unadorned and simple—Edmund loved it. Granted, it was still a bit heavy, but Edmund blamed that on the weight he'd lost while with…Her._

_Shaking his head vigorously, Edmund brought his sword up into a ready stance, shifting his feet to accommodate his weight. Taking a deep breath, he centered himself on the balls of his feet as Oreius had shown him._

_His first few movements were awkward, possessing nowhere near the grace Oreius or Peter had exhibited. His hand position was incorrect and the sword sat uneasily in his grip, but after some uncertain adjustment, his form improved, even if it wasn't quite as smooth as Edmund would have liked. A hesitant smile touched his lips._

_A bit of awkwardness still remained, though, and one movement in particular caused him difficulty._

_It was a simple enough technique: parry then thrust, uppercut then spin, and finish with an overhand block. But Edmund found himself stumbling on the spin and then scrambling to complete the block._

_He didn't need to be told that such a mistake could cost him his life._

_He huffed, and just as he was about to give up in frustration, two warm hands suddenly came up to cover his own and raise his sword (which he had begun to lower) back into a ready stance. "Like this, Ed," Peter's voice whispered from above him._

Parry. Thrust. Uppercut. Spin. Overhand block.

_Edmund's voice (and breath) caught in his throat as Peter guided him through the steps, moving with him._

Parry. Thrust. Uppercut. Spin…

_Edmund tightly shut his eyes, willing his tears not to fall_.

Parry. Thrust. Uppercut…

_His brother's movements were careful, sure. Edmund gave himself up completely to the instruction, offered freely and given freely, even when he had done Peter the worst wrong._

Parry. Thrust…

_Even when Edmund couldn't forgive himself._

Parry…

_This was no longer about the lesson, and Edmund wondered if Peter realized that, too._

"_Parry, then thrust. Uppercut, then spin. _And…"

_**Block.**_

"_There! Good, Ed!"_

_Slowly, Edmund lowered his sword. But he made no move to let it go. Or leave Peter's arms._

"_Ed?" Peter's thick voice rang out oddly in the silence, and his nickname caught on the end with a hitched breath._

_Tears rushed down Edmund's cheeks._

(End Flashback)

Peter had been frantic when he realized his baby brother was crying, Edmund remembered with a wistful smile. And Edmund had cried for quite a while.

"Penny for your thoughts, Ed?" Lucy's bright face suddenly entered his vision and her cheerful voice startled him so much that he toppled off the wall. Thankfully, it was backwards and into the grass behind him—albeit with a rather undignified yelp.

"Oops," Lucy giggled, helping him upright. "Sorry about that, Eddy."

"Fine, you're fine," was the rather dazed answer she received. He shook his head, settling more firmly on his perch and opening his arms to her. "Um…did anyone else see that?" asked, as she settled herself comfortably in his lap.

His little sister grinned. "Nope. You're safe."

Edmund heaved a sigh, putting his arms around her waist. "Thank Aslan for small miracles."

Lucy snorted, then giggled. "Yes, about that…" she lightly thumped his chest with her fist, grinning widely. "What's gotten into you this morning? You can hardly be in the same room with Peter without turning bright red or tripping over your own two feet."

Edmund groaned. "You _saw_ that?"

Lucy dissolved into a fresh fit of giggles. "It was kind of hard not to. Even Caspian noticed. What did he say to you that got you so embarrassed?"

"I don't want to talk about it," muttered, as his cheeks grew slightly warm. "And it wasn't necessarily what he _said_—what he _did_, more like."

Another set of giggles claimed Lucy's slight frame. "And what exactly did he _do_, Edmund?"

Her brother looked at her like she had just announced she was going to Tashbaan to become a Tarkheena. "You _were_ there this morning, weren't you? He's practically declared me the next High King!"

"Well, you _are_ his heir in a way, Ed," Lucy pointed out softly.

Edmund grimaced slightly. "If you don't mind, Lu, I'd rather _not_ think about that at the moment," he muttered. Because to do that would lead him down paths he _really_ didn't want to follow.

They both knew something was going to happen—the trees stirred around them, uneasy. Although not yet in their corporeal forms, their roots ran very deep—and both Edmund and Lucy had long ago learned to trust in the trees whenever they sensed something was wrong.

And if something went wrong, both Edmund and Lucy knew that Peter would be right in the middle of it. Even though he had performed the _equalis fratres_, Peter was still Narnia's High King…and Narnia's High King was always in the front lines of battle.

Lucy shivered. Hard.

Edmund noticed, and rearranged them a bit so that his little sister was nestled warmly against his chest. With some juggling, he managed to find his pocket knife in one of the pouches around his waist and easily sliced the apple he was still holding in half. "Here you are, Lu," he murmured, gladly distracting _both_ their thoughts from that darker line of thinking.

Lucy's smile was back, and she accepted the half slice of apple her brother held out to her. "Thanks, Ed." She took large bite and grinned at him. "So…" she asked, after she was done chewing.

Edmund groaned again, this time far more good-naturedly. "You're never going to let up on that are you?"

Lucy giggled. "Of course not. Did you really expect me to?"

"I'm not going to answer that," he muttered, before giving in with a fondly exasperated sigh as she pouted at him. "Oh, all _right_, Lu. You win."

Immediately, she grinned again and started thumping excitedly at his arm. "Tell, tell, tell!" she exclaimed.

"Why do I get the distinct impression I'm going to regret this?" grumbled. But dutifully, he began recounting the tale.

IOIOIOIOIOI

By the time he was finished, Lucy was grinning so hard he was surprised her face didn't split in half. "He called you a _maiden_?"

"_No_! He…he was only--"

But Lucy was laughing too hard to really pay attention. "He called you a maiden. Oh, _please_, I _have_ to tell Susan this!"

A disgruntled Edmund muttered something unintelligible and took a rather large bite out of his apple.

Lucy grinned widely. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

Her brother merely scowled at her (even though it held no real ire) and bit back into the fruit.

"You know what I think?" Lucy announced a few moments later, when she was sure the older boy was listening.

"What do you think?" Edmund muttered, not quite daring to look at her and taking another bite of apple.

"I think you and Peter are soul mates."

Edmund promptly choked on his next bite of apple and started hacking.

Someone hit him soundly between the shoulder blades with the flat of their palm, pounding at his back until his airway was more or less clear. "Easy there, Ed. No need for you to choke yourself."

Edmund, all at once, turned very, very red. /Of all the times Peter could _possibly_ show up…!/

Lucy took one look at his face, one look at Peter, and immediately dissolved into gales of laughter as she followed Edmund's train of thought.

Baffled, Peter asked, "What's so funny?"

"Lucy has a perverted mind," Edmund grumbled, now very, very, _very_ red.

"No!" she gasped out, between spurts of giggles, "No! That's…that's not what I meant. That's not it at all…"

She promptly dissolved into another laughing fit.

His cheeks stinging, Edmund muttered, "Oh, really? Then what _did_ you mean?"

"I think…" she sputtered, as an utterly bemused Peter took a seat next to Edmund on the wall, "I think…you should...figure it out…for yourself," she managed to gasp, before collapsing into giggles again.

"And _I_ think we shouldn't let you think so much," her younger brother grumbled, taking another bite of apple as he firmed his hold on their little sister's waist.

Lucy pulled herself together enough to smirk at him, but didn't ever receive the chance remark on it.

Susan and Caspian burst out of the How and came racing towards them. "Peter, Edmund! The Telmarines have breached the woods!" the older girl cried.

And just like that, all merriment stopped. Edmund felt Lucy stiffen in his lap, but his terrified eyes were for Peter, whose face had gone an ashen shade of gray…and who stood quickly to his feet as his jaw squared and locked.

"How many and where?"

* * *

_And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.—John 8:32_

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* * *

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_Tbc._


	10. The Descent of Danger

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis.

_**Reviewers:**_ All of you, thank you! I hope this tides you over until the next installment, so enjoy!

_**Author's Note:**_ Er, yeah…this little chapter comes from listening too much to the "Oogway Ascends" track from the _Kung Fu Panda_ soundtrack. Don't ask me how it helps ::sheepish smile:: I just know that it does. Please enjoy it and watch for the next chapter in the next several weeks!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Quotes/Excerpts (Italics)**_

**(10) **_Prince Caspian _pg. 398 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Ten: The Descent of Danger_

_

* * *

_"_For to prevent the effusion of blood, and for the avoiding of all other inconveniences likely to grow from the wars now levied in our realm of Narnia, it is our pleasure to adventure our royal person on behalf of our trusty and well-beloved Caspian in clean wager of battle to prove upon your Lordship's body that the said Caspian is lawful King under us in Narnia both by our gift and by the laws of the Telmarines, and your Lordship twice guilty of treachery both in withholding the dominion of Narnia from the said Caspian and in the most abhominable,—__**don't forget to spell that with an H, Doctor**_—_bloody, and unnatural murder of your kindly lord and brother King Caspian, Ninth of that name. Wherefore we most heartily provoke, challenge, and defy your Lordship to the said combat and monomachy, and have sent these letters by the hand of our well-beloved and royal brother Edmund, sometime King under us in Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste and Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, to whom we have given full power of determining with your Lordship all the conditions of the said battle…"_ (10)

* * *

400. At the edge of the forest.

Lucy felt sick. There were barely 200 Narnians. They were outnumbered two to one and Lucy knew—just _knew_—that Peter would find some way to send she and Susan away. Edmund, too, if he could at all manage it.

Apparently, Edmund also realized that; when he heard the numbers and the location, his arms squeezed tightly enough around Lucy's waist that she had to conceal a wince. And when she glanced behind her, she saw his jaw lock.

He wouldn't be cooperative if Peter tried something like that, and she had a feeling Peter knew that, as well. Their older brother's eyebrows drew down into a troubled frown.

Things moved quickly, then. Before Lucy had a chance to blink, she and Edmund had been pulled to their feet by their respective older siblings and all four of them were on Caspian's heels as he led them straight back into the mound.

Two minutes later they were standing together over the entrance to Aslan's How, gazing ahead to the edge of the wood where the Telmarines were in the process of setting up camp.

Movement on the outskirts of the site caught Lucy's sharp eye and she grabbed for Edmund's arm when she spotted the source of her distraction. "Ed!" she hissed. "It's the Telmarine you released!"

At that same moment, Susan, who had been following her little sister's gaze, stifled a cry. "Peter, it's the soldier from the woods!"

Time stopped. Lucy turned disbelievingly to stare at her sister, who returned her wide-eyed look.

"Su?" she asked very, very cautiously.

"'Hope springs eternal,'" Susan whispered. She suddenly spun on Edmund, voice raising an octave, "That was you, wasn't it? That was _you_! Oh, _Ed_…!"

Lucy looked on quietly as Susan's dark eyes filled with tears and wondered what their older sister was remembering. A side glance at Peter revealed her oldest brother staring, thunderstruck, at Edmund. Edmund, finding himself the focus of two unwavering stares filled with far too much emotion, promptly blushed and looked away.

Caspian's voice ripped through the silence that followed as he gave a sharp curse: "We have exactly one hour before they start firing the catapults," he informed them.

Time resumed its normal pace.

Wrenching his gaze from Edmund, Peter gave the prince a curt nod. "Then we'd best be quick about this," he murmured, eyes hardening.

Susan shook herself, swiping furiously at her tears and gave a strong nod. "Let's go." She glanced at Lucy and held out her hand.

The younger girl pressed her lips together and gave a curt nod of her own, taking Susan's hand. Her sister squeezed, and tugged her towards the entrance back into the interior of Aslan's How.

About halfway there, with Caspian already ahead of them, Lucy suddenly realized their brothers were still standing together on the ledge.

She immediately halted, jerking them to a stop. "Wait, Susan!" she exclaimed in a rush, spinning back around.

Neither Edmund nor Peter noticed that she had, or gave any indication that they heard her. "You sent that message purposely, didn't you?" asked lowly by Peter as he loosely grasped the younger boy's arm. "You knew I'd come. You left those markers--"

"Pete," Edmund's terse voice interrupted him and Lucy saw him grip the pommel of his sword until his knuckles turned white as he gazed straight ahead, "now isn't the time for this."

There was a weary sigh from Peter. "How can I convince you that I meant every word I said this morning?"

"Peter," Lucy heard Edmund grit his teeth, "_not now_."

"We can't go into battle like this, Edmund! If we do it's Narnia that will suffer, not us!"

"_I know that, Peter_!"

When the older boy flinched, Edmund softened his voice, curling his free hand around Peter's on his arm, "I know. But what you can't seem to understand is that there was never a need for you to apologize in the first place."

A beat of silence; Lucy watched as Peter squeezed his eyes shut. When he spoke again his voice was rough, "You're an angel, Ed."

Edmund whipped around to face him, giving Lucy a clear profile of his face.

Every inch of it was colored by shock and disbelief, which all at once turned very raw and very naked as he looked at their brother.

Lucy heard Susan draw in a sharp breath behind her.

Slipping her hand out of Susan's, Lucy shook her head when her sister motioned to the inside of the How. She wasn't about to leave Edmund like this.

Susan blew out a long breath, but nodded. Silently indicating her willingness to stay until Peter had his say and then drag him away to give the two younger monarchs a moment of privacy.

Lucy flashed her a grateful smile before turning back around to watch their brothers.

Peter had just kissed Edmund's forehead. Now he looked up and started when he noticed the two of them watching. He blinked, then shook his head with a rueful smile. Squeezing Edmund's forearm one last time, he released their younger brother and made his way over to the two girls. Stooping down, he pressed a swift kiss to Lucy's own forehead and murmured, "Take care of him for me, Lu," before raising his eyes to Susan's and indicating the interior of the How with a tilt of his head.

With a nod, Susan smiled at him, before grinning sadly at Lucy and leading Peter inside.

As soon as they left, Lucy began edging towards Edmund. "Ed?" she asked softly.

Edmund who had been staring, stricken, after Peter, now viciously bit his bottom lip at the tenderness in Lucy's voice and turned to stare with sightless eyes over what was soon to become a battlefield—a death-field, he had always called it.

All feeling fled from Lucy's limbs.

She had told Edmund he and Peter were soul mates. To Edmund that translated as "lovers." But Mr. Tumnus had once told her that many people had the same misconception. You could still have a soul mate and not be in love. A best friend could be a soul mate. A sister could be a soul mate…so could a brother. A soul mate was someone you couldn't live without, someone to whom you entrusted the very key to your soul. Someone who, if they died, all of you (or part of you) would die with them.

If she and Susan lost Peter, Lucy realized, wrapping her arms around herself and giving a hard shiver, then they would lose Edmund, too.

"Come on, Lu," she jumped as Edmund laid a hand on her arm, "we should head inside."

And Lucy, for the life of her, couldn't say "no."

IOIOIOIOIOI

"There you two are," Peter's soft voice cut through the silence of the chamber as she and Edmund slipped into their seats beside Susan. He looked up from the rather worn map laid out in front of him on the table and cast a questioning look at Lucy. She gave a slight nod. "We've not started, yet. Caspian's gone to find Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, and the Bulgy Bears."

She felt Edmund start on the other side of Susan. "Why the Bulgy Bears, Peter?" asked quietly. "They're noble creatures, but you know--"

Peter merely looked at him and Edmund cut himself off. Lucy saw his eyes widen. "No," his voice was strangled.

She frowned as Peter quickly looked down at the map and cast a surreptitious glance around the chamber. They were in one of the rooms off the Table Chamber—meeting there for a Council of War somehow didn't seem appropriate, really. Of those already assembled there was Reepicheep, a rotund, jolly little man (who incidentally didn't look quite so jolly anymore) who was too tall to be a Dwarf and too short to be a Human (Lucy realized with a start this must be Dr. Cornelius), Glenstorm, and—

She froze. _Glenstorm_. And Caspian was going after the Bulgy Bears, so…

"_Peter_!" she burst out, flying to her feet. Her oldest brother flinched. "You _can't_!"

Lucy knew the protocol of war just as well as her brothers did. Traditionally, Oreius (and Oreius' line) and the Bulgy Bears were marshals for single combat. So that meant—

"I can, Lu," Peter countered quietly, looking up and fixing her with an even stare. "I _have_ to. It's my duty, Lucy. You know that."

"You're not twenty-eight anymore, Peter!" That was Edmund, and he was shaking where he sat, fists clenched tightly in his lap and face a shade too pale.

"Sit down, Lucy," Peter advised her sternly, voice soft. Automatically responding to the note of authority she heard there, she did so (if not entirely willingly) and Peter let his gaze rake over his siblings. "No, I'm not twenty-eight. Listen to me, you two. I don't want to do this anymore than you want to let me. But you have to understand, we don't have any other choice." He looked at Lucy. "We need Aslan," completed quietly.

As Lucy's eyes slowly filled with tears, Edmund stated bluntly, "You are an ass." But his voice was just a little too thick for it to be effective.

A sort of half-smirk graced Peter's tired lips and he went back to studying the map. As Edmund moved from his seat to slip easily into his place by Peter's side and the two boys proceeded to have a whispered conversation too low for Lucy's ears to hear, the younger girl turned tearfully to Susan who offered her a faint smile, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"We just have to trust Peter, Lu," she whispered. "Trust Peter and trust Aslan."

When Caspian and his companions joined them, Peter immediately looked up and addressed the prince: "Caspian, I need you to tell me all you can about the Telmarine army."

* * *

_Peace be to you, fear not.—Genesis 43:23_

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* * *

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_Tbc._


	11. The Gamble of Chance

**WARNING:** Rather intense chapter to follow, folks, just a warning.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

**_Dedication:_** Hi, folks! This chapter is dedicated to _Wildfire2,_ whose review inspired Edmund's and Miraz's entire confrontation (and gave me a kickstart to write this chapter, too!), so thank you ::grins::!

_**Author's Note:**_ Yeah ::rubs neck sheepishly:: Sorry about the wait. I had a bit of a Writer's Block (not to mention, I was absolutely zonked by the time I returned home for the holiday break), but I was determined to get out a chapter to one of my major stories before everything starts full-throttle again. Hopefully, I'll be able to get the next chapter to this up soon. I might even focus most of my efforts on this particular story until I finish (because I really, really want to take it all the way to the end). I'm rather proud of this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it, too. Just a warning, it's a long one ::grins::!

**_Author's Note #2:_** I nearly forgot to warn you. The name of the Telmarine Edmund releases has changed (check out chapter four to see)--I promised myself I wouldn't, I really did, but I liked the movie-potrayal of this character entirely too much!

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you so much for your patience (and your reviews ::grins::). I hope this chapter is well worth the wait!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intensity)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes**_

**(11) **_Prince Caspian_ pg. 399 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Eleven: The Gamble of Chance_

* * *

…_Nor would the other boys at Edmund's school have recognized him if they could have seen him at that moment. For Aslan had breathed on him at their meeting and a kind of greatness hung about him._

"_What's to do?" said the Lord Glozelle. "An attack?"_

"_A parley, rather," said Sopespian. "See, they carry green branches. They are coming to surrender most likely."_

"_He that is walking between the Centaur and the Giant has no look of surrender in his face," said Glozelle. "Who can he be? It is not the boy Caspian."_

"_No, indeed," said Sopespian. "This is a fell warrior, I warrant you, wherever the rebels have got him from. He is (in your Lordship's private ear) a kinglier man than ever Miraz was…" _(11)

* * *

Nearly everyone vacated the room after the battle plans had been sorted out. Or rather, the council concluded and those who did not leave right away were herded out by Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, and Glenstorm. The Badger, the Dwarf, and the Centaur seemed to sense that this time—however short it may be—belonged to the four Golden Monarchs, and thereafter, exited themselves.

Caspian, who had tried to slip away when the majority of the council did, hovered uncertainly in the threshold, held there by the sharp glare Susan had sent his way when he attempted to leave. Now, as he watched, the façade of regality and calm all four Golden Sovereigns had worn while conducting the Council of War crumbled so swiftly it was not apparent that it had ever been there in the first place.

One after the other—first Lucy, then Susan, then Edmund—grabbed Peter in their arms and hugged him, squeezing so hard that the prince wondered how the High King could possibly still be breathing.

Peter himself seemed not to mind. "You know I have to do this," his voice was thick, and wavered slightly as he tried to hug all three of his younger siblings at the same time.

"Yes, we know," the muffled, choked voice was Susan's, "but that doesn't mean we have to like it."

The rueful smile the eldest wore turned into a startled half-grin as Lucy interjected fiercely, "You are _so_ dead, Peter Pevensie!" Her threat notwithstanding, voice thick, she near-hissed: "If you don't walk away from that combat, Aslan help me I'll--!"

Peter chuckled faintly, giving the two girls another squeeze, before setting them back on their feet. Caspian quietly noted Edmund had yet to say anything. "I'll be careful, Lu. I promise."

Satisfied, Lucy whirled on Edmund (whom Peter had released at the same time as their sisters), "And _you_--!"

Caspian was unable to quite smother his sudden laughter when Edmund gulped, "Yes, Lu?" and received a scowl from his friend in reply.

Lucy marched up to the younger of her two brothers and proceeded to poke her finger (rather harshly, if the other boy's wince was any indication) into his chest, "If Peter tells me you got yourself killed again by being overly protective, our big brother will be the _least_ of your worries!"

When Caspian snorted softly, Susan, who had gained his side, smirked warmly at him, "I wouldn't laugh, Caspian. In all likelihood she'll start on you next."

Sure enough, as soon as Edmund had set Lucy (whom he had apparently picked up) back on her feet with a kiss to her forehead and a rather wry promise to be good, Lucy spun on her heel and bore down on the suddenly very nervous prince. /I wonder if running is still an option.../

"Caspian X, if I see so much as a _scratch_ on you when we get back…!"

Susan's laughter followed her down the hall as she exited the chamber in search of a horse.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"Well, that was interesting," Edmund muttered once Lucy and Caspian had left, situating himself at the table with an inkpot and parchment.

Peter snorted quietly. "I'll say," he murmured, coming over to sit on the edge of the stone slab near Edmund's hand. "When did Lucy adopt him?"

Edmund quirked his older brother a faint half-smirk: "Within the first five minutes of meeting him."

The older king snorted again, warmly, "Small wonder." He shook his head fondly, chuckling ruefully, "Do you think she'll ever change?"

Rather than answer, Edmund looked down, wearing a small frown and intently studying his palms.

Peter noticed. "Ed?" he asked softly, reaching out to touch the hand that clutched the quill.

Edmund sighed miserably, voice thick, "Do you really have to do this, Peter?"

He sensed, rather than saw, his brother's grimace. "You know I do. I can't ask Caspian. He's already sacrificed more than enough."

"That doesn't mean _you_ should!"

"And who am I going to ask, Ed? Certainly not you."

"But I could--"

Peter scowled. "_No_. Absolutely not!" stated forcefully. "I know you could—and would. But if you think I'm letting you within a sword's reach of Miraz--!"

"I am the herald, Peter," pointed out quietly as Edmund hazarded a glance into his brother's burning eyes.

"_Yes_," retorted fiercely, "and that is why Glenstorm and Giant Wimbleweather are going with you. I'm _not_ about to lose you now, Ed!"

Mutely, Edmund stared down at the parchment. What could he possibly say to that?

Peter's own voice went soft: "I know you want to keep me safe," and Edmund jerked his head up to stare uncomprehendingly at his older brother (when had they got back on the same wavelength?), "but you have to trust me. _Please_ trust me, Ed." He stooped down in an attempt to keep Edmund's eyes, "I know I've no right to ask you that after the beast I've been, but I finally have my head straight on my shoulders…and I mean to keep it there." He squeezed the hand he still held, "_Really_."

Edmund pressed his lips into a tight, trembling line. "I'm not exactly thrilled about this, Peter," he murmured thickly.

Peter bent close to kiss the crown of Edmund's head. "I don't think anyone is. Come now," cajoled tenderly as he reluctantly pulled away, "let's finish this, hmm? Then you can yell at me all you want."

The younger teen sputtered out a strangled sound that might have been a laugh, but straightened in his seat and gave a nod, swiping at tears.

"Good. Now listen…_We, Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election, by prescription, and by conquest, High King over all Kings in Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, in order to prevent the abhominable effusion of blood and prove our trusty servant Caspian lawful King under us in Narnia both by our gift and the laws of the Telmarines, do hereby challenge the usurper Miraz to single combat upon the field of battle. Wherefore we most heartily provoke, challenge, and defy your Lordship to the said combat and monomachy_..."

IOIOIOIOIOI

"…_and have sent these letters by the hand of our well-beloved and royal brother Edmund, sometime King under us in Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste and Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, to whom we have given full power of determining with your Lordship all the conditions of the said battle, this Twelfth day of the month Greenroof in the first year of Caspian the Tenth of Narnia_…" there was a fond, slightly amused snort from Caspian when he finished reading the missive Edmund had written up for Peter. "Think he could make it any clearer that you are not to be touched under any circumstances?"

This question was directed at Edmund, who gave the prince a very puzzled look, before turning his attention to the ramp ahead of them—at the top of which he was to meet Glenstorm and the Giant Wimbleweather. "I'm not sure I understand, Caspian."

Caspian heaved a sigh, rolling up the parchment, and lightly tapped the younger king's shoulder with the scroll. "Edmund, by making you the messenger, and by giving you full power to negotiate terms, King Peter has essentially granted you immunity while in the enemy's camp. They cannot harm you because to do so would be a breach of trust, and it would cancel any and all terms previously agreed upon. You ought to know that."

Edmund swallowed thickly, blinking back the heat burning just at the back of his eyes. "There really are no terms to negotiate, Caspian," the younger man whispered. "Peter made it clear that he will accept nothing less than total surrender on Miraz's part, and to do that…" he squeezed his eyes shut, "to do that…they'll have to fight to the death."

It was abundantly clear to Caspian that his friend was not the least bit happy with his older brother's decision. He shook his head. "You trust your brother with your entire being. Can you not trust him on this?" he asked, honestly wanting to know.

Edmund swallowed again, and murmured tightly, "It is not Peter who I doubt."

Caspian had nothing to say to that, except to lean forward and hug the younger teen tightly. /Do not _dare_ touch him, Uncle,/ the prince thought fiercely, squeezing him just a little tighter before releasing his friend to stand on his own feet and pressing the scroll into the younger king's hand. /Or you will have more than the wrath of the High King to deal with./

IOIOIOIOIOI

They were met at the edge of the Telmarine encampment by (to Edmund's well-hidden shock) a familiar soldier.

"Sire, what are you doing here?" Glozelle, son of Glosarian, hissed anxiously, waving off several men who appeared a little too interested in the three visitors.

Recovering himself quickly, Edmund squared his shoulders and hardened his jaw, tightening his grip on the scroll he held. "I bear a challenge for your lord. Will you grant us safe passage?"

Glozelle warily eyed Glenstorm's impassive face and then peered up uneasily at Giant Wimbleweather (who had been instructed by Edmund to do his best to look intimidating), but took note of the green branches all three carried and nodded. "I shall, my Lord, but—"

A firm shake of Edmund's head cut him off and the Telmarine subsided, bowing. "As you wish, Sire."

He led them through the camp, and most Telmarines gave the three messengers a wide berth. No few stopped Glozelle on the way and asked what he could possibly want with three heathens. The man simply stated that they were here to see the Lord Miraz and asked if they might be on their way.

During one of these whispered, hurried conversations (which Edmund, for the most part, had been ignoring) the young Narnian king caught the title "General." /Looks like our Telmarine soldier wasn't so inconspicuous, after all,/ he thought, trading a grim look with Glenstorm. The Centaur General had long since heard out the entire story.

When they finally reached the large central pavilion, Glozelle indicated that they should be seated beneath a small stand of trees. "I will announce you to King Miraz shortly," the man advised Edmund lowly. "It should not be long."

While Glenstorm and the Giant Wimbleweather settled themselves on the ground, Edmund inclined his head, "Thank you, General," and remained standing.

The older man hesitated. Edmund quirked a curious eyebrow, "Yes?"

Glozelle shook his head and turned to enter the pavilion. "You should not have come, Majesty," he murmured, then ducked into the tent.

He left Edmund frowning thoughtfully at his back.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It should have been simple enough.

The General had announced his presence and, in due course, Edmund had found himself in front of Miraz and what Caspian had called the Council of Lords. None of them had been terribly intimidating and, in fact, seemed more frightened of him than he was of them.

The situation deteriorated when he laid out Peter's demands:

"And what if I were to…add something to these conditions?" Miraz nearly purred, and Edmund would have called it as such if he had not felt so blessed sick when he heard it.

Steeling himself, he ignored the tension in his shoulders and fought the urge to swallow. "Then, Lord, I would say exactly the same: to the death. Total surrender," his voice was even, betraying nothing of the sudden spike of fear that shot through his heart. What could this…man possibly want that he hadn't already taken? Wasn't the life of the High King enough?

"Ah, but you see, you are, as I suspect your brother is, a noble…man," the intended slur was heard, but went unheeded. "Certainly, you must feel a certain—ah, how shall I put it—_obligation_ to your people." He said "people" as if they were something filthy. "Surely their happiness and freedom is more important than…your life, say."

It took a second for Miraz's words to process, but when they did, cold, hard fury filled Edmund's dark brown eyes, turning them almost black. /Bleedin' hell! He's using me as a bargaining chip against Peter!/

But in the chilled depths of his mind, the fear settled, and festered, and would not leave. There, a traitorous voice whispered, /And Aslan knows, it will work like a gem./

Edmund, however, was saved responding when an older lord spoke up, voice quiet and directed—not at Edmund—but at Miraz. "You step out of line, Majesty," he warned softly, pointedly indicating the man's sword where it had remained on the table throughout the entire audience with a tilt of his head. "Any further and you will call the wrath of all Narnia down on our heads."

For the first time since Edmund had entered the pavilion, Miraz lost control. Snarling, he leapt up and snatched his sword. A hair's breadth away from striking the man he stopped, turning as a second lord spoke up: "You shall have our support, Your Majesty," Edmund knew a brownnoser when he heard one, "whatever you choose."

A throat cleared, and the lord that had greeted Edmund upon his entrance into the pavilion (the young king thought his name might be Sopespian) interjected, "Sire, our military advantage alone provides enough of an excuse to--"

"We're not avoiding _anything_!"

The hiss was enough to make said lord pale, but he continued on regardless, warily eyeing the sword his monarch still clenched in his fist, "I was merely pointing out that my Lord would be well within his rights to refuse…"

When he nodded to Glozelle, lord in his own right that the General was, Edmund knew something else entirely was going on behind the scenes of the Telmarine camp.

A pity he wasn't feeling particularly charitable at the moment.

He drew his lips into a thin line when the man spoke (having, until this point, remained silent), "His Majesty would never refuse," and Edmund had to commend the Telmarine on his acting skills. "He _relishes_ the chance to show the people the courage of their king."

Boxed in on all sides, Miraz had little choice in the matter. Abruptly, he swung his sword until it was level with Edmund's face, "You!" A smirk suddenly curled his lips, "You should hope your brother's sword is sharper than his pen," his eyes gleamed, "or you will find that it is not just your brother's life that I claim."

Edmund's voice could have frozen fire : "You are a fool, Lord, if you believe I will willingly succumb to any Telmarine sword. Know this," he could have frozen Hell if he wanted to, "if so much as a crossbow bolt is fired at my brother during the single combat, you will rue the day you ever crossed me."

More than one lord that day privately prayed to the gods that he would never have to meet King Edmund the Just in battle.

IOIOIOIOIOI

A sour taste had been sitting at the back of Edmund's mouth for the last hour as they picketed the combat field and walked the lines. It remained there as he tucked away the knowledge (after quietly pulling Glenstorm to the side and instructing him to do the same) of how many Telmarines, where, at what distance, and of how many catapults. It rose whenever Miraz neared, or one of the lords he'd assigned as marshals did. And it was still there half an hour later when he, Glenstorm, and Giant Wimbleweather returned to the How.

He wished he could say he felt confident about the outcome of the match—he knew his brother was formidable with a sword and did not doubt he would fight with everything he had—but Miraz was older, taller, _heavier_…with years of experience Edmund wasn't sure Peter had.

The end result was a rather seasick King Edmund who could barely manage a bite of the small, simple meal brought out to the three messengers when they arrived back at noontide.

He did choke down a piece of bread and cheese, as well as a few sips from a water skin, to keep his sisters from worrying unduly about him, though. The girls stirred uneasily in place as he ate, waiting anxiously for him to finish.

"_Well_?" Lucy finally burst out when he was done, unable to contain it any longer.

Edmund grimaced, trying to ignore the angry roiling of his stomach and taking another sip of water. He was beginning to regret forcing himself to eat. "He accepted," whispered at last.

Their little sister blew out a short, troubled breath—a little relieved (they'd need all the time they could get) and a lot bit upset (because, really, they didn't _want_ to want this).

Susan bit her bottom lip. "So quickly? And with all of Peter's demands?" Edmund nodded, taking another gulp of water (even knowing he shouldn't). Susan's face grew progressively tighter, "What on earth did he ask for in return?"

It quickly became apparent that that was the entirely wrong thing to ask. Edmund's fingers clenched around the neck of the water skin as he paled. Immediately, he bent over and expelled whatever little he had eaten in the past five minutes into the grass.

That was all the answer his sisters needed. As a white-faced Susan snatched the water skin out of his hand, a pale Lucy spun on heel and darted into the How in search of Caspian and their older brother.

Edmund kept retching, and when breakfast followed lunch, he doubled up, shoulders heaving. It was all he could do to keep the wracking sobs at bay.

Susan shushed him where she knelt at his side, rubbing his back and shoulders. A small paw suddenly plucked at her elbow: "My Queen?" a timid voice asked.

She turned to find a she-Hare holding out a cloth dripping with water. With a faint smile, Susan accepted it, "Thank you…?"

The she-Hare curtsied. "It's Fleetfoot, my Lady. Mimsy Fleetfoot, and I am glad to have been of help."

She bounded off before Susan could say anything.

With a warm snort, Susan turned back to Edmund. "You've made quite an impression on the Narnians, Ed," she murmured. "You and Lucy both."

Edmund just moaned, curling into himself even more as he suffered through the last of his sick-throes.

Susan bit her lip until it bled and tried to ignore the trembling of her hand as she gently wiped down his face with the cool cloth. It was a few minutes before she spoke again, voice thick, "You're just as bad as he is, you know." She jerked her chin in the direction of the How, knowing he would sense it. "When you love, you love entirely too well."

Edmund barked out a shaky laugh. "Do you think I can help it, Susan? Consider who's been the primary male figure in my life for the past twenty years or so."

His older sister was quiet again for a few minutes, continuing to lightly swab his face. At last she sighed, and shifted to face him, stating softly (and quite firmly), "I never understood it, you know. I never understood how you could so easily attach so much of yourself to Peter, or he to you. Somewhere…I suppose I always thought that you'd be more like Lucy and me. We're close, best friends even, but with you…" She shook her head helplessly.

Edmund gazed blankly out across the waving grass, towards the Telmarine camp, as his stomach continued to tie itself into knots. "You would be, too, if she took a sword for you," he whispered. Susan went pale at the very thought. "Right _in_ _front_ of you," he added softly, voice but a whisper. He turned to look at her, face unreadable, eyes a veritable storm, and thoughts a million miles away, "She says we're soul mates, you know. Peter and I."

"Who does?"

"Lu."

Susan stirred uncomfortably in place. "Ed--" she began.

Edmund shook his head, and turned his attention back to the Telmarine camp. "Not like that," he whispered, hugging his knees to his chest where he sat on the ground beside Susan. "I thought that, too, actually, when she first said it." He blew out a long breath. "But I'm not, and we aren't. In love, that is." He buried his head in his knees. "But _God_…if this is what I feel like _not_ being in love, I'm not sure I ever want to be."

"Don't be silly, Ed," both Susan and Edmund looked up as Peter carefully picked his way through grass and scattered boulders to join them, Lucy and Caspian on his heels. His arm went around Edmund's back as he sat down next to him. "One day you'll find a nice…well, someone, anyway, and settle down nice and proper, and this will all be but a memory."

Edmund fixed him with a wry look as Lucy and Caspian found a place to sit on the other side of Susan. "Is that the _only_ thing you heard?"

A half-smirk curved a portion of Peter's mouth and his brother shrugged. "Should I have heard anything else?"

Edmund merely shook his head and buried it in Peter's shoulder. He felt the older boy's other arm come up to wrap around his back, as well. A sigh wafted through his hair. "What happened, Ed? I know he accepted, but--"

Caspian eyed the parchment Edmund still clutched (with the hand that wasn't clutching his brother, anyway), then glanced to where they had all been standing a few minutes prior. "I think, King Peter," the prince remarked wryly, gesturing to the parchment Edmund still held, "that you perhaps made it a little too obvious just what King Edmund's value is to you. Knowing my uncle, he picked up on it and well…" Caspian shrugged, half-shyly, half-apologetically, and gazed wearily out across the grass to said uncle's camp.

Edmund felt Peter suck in a sharp breath as what the prince was saying registered, and hid his wince as the older teen's arms tightened. "Tell me you didn't promise your life, Ed," his older brother barely managed. "_Please_ tell me you didn't."

"I didn't," Edmund's muffled response came from Peter's chest, followed by an even more muffled squeak as Peter squeezed him just a little too hard, "but Miraz seems to think I did." He gasped as his brother proceeded to try and bruise his ribs. "Peter. Air," he wheezed, "or you won't have to worry about Miraz killing me."

Peter just squeezed him tighter, if possible. "Not happening, Ed. Ever."

His younger brother decided not to point out that he might not have a choice in the matter.

* * *

_For what is a man advantaged, if he gain the whole world and lose himself…?—Luke 9:25_

* * *

_Tbc._


	12. The Sacrifice of Fear

**WARNING:** Angst and emotional messiness abound in this chapter. You have been warned.

_**Disclaimer:**_I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you for so many reviews! I hope you like this chapter just as much as the last one!

_**Author's Note:**_ I know it's been at least two weeks since I last posted, but Grad School and Work had to come first (much as I sometimes wish it didn't ::pouts::). But I don't think you'll have much to worry about for the chapter that follows this one. I'll be building barricades in preparation for when you come to the end of this chapter, of course, but I think _I'm_ going to have some trouble waiting to finish the next one, never mind my readers! Please enjoy and, er, _try_ not to kill me…

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intensity and emotional overload)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(12)** _Prince Caspian _pg. 402 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Twelve: The Sacrifice of Fear_

_

* * *

_

_An awful silence followed this remark, which was broken by Peter saying, "Giant Wimble-weather and the Bear and the Centaur Glenstorm shall be our marshals. The combat will be at two hours after noon. Dinner at noon precisely."_

"_I say," said Edmund as they walked away, "I suppose it __is__ all right. I mean, I suppose you can beat him?"_

"_That's what I'm fighting him to find out," said Peter. _(12)

* * *

"But if we are to have marshals for the lists, should I not be one of them? I mean…"

Caspian's question echoed in the chamber the five monarchs had retreated to soon after re-entering the How. Susan had since gone to find Glenstorm, in search of additional provisions in case they were needed. Peter and Caspian had remained out in the hall, just past the threshold to the room. Edmund watched their interaction out of the corner of his eye, helping Lucy saddle up the steed which would bear his sisters on their vital search.

Peter shook his head, "No, Caspian, that wouldn't be proper. After all, it is your right to the throne that this fight is _about_…"

"I cannot even fight in the combat, King Peter," Caspian's voice was tight with frustration, "can I not help with at least this?"

Silently, Edmund applauded the young prince. Having only known Peter and Susan for a little over a day, Caspian was sometimes still terribly shy around the two elder Golden Monarchs. Often, Lucy or Edmund ended up thumping him on the shoulder or nearest limb when he became too formal. As he interacted more with their brother and sister, however, and grew more familiar with them (their older siblings wouldn't have it otherwise), things had started to change.

It had made him bold enough to confront the High King, and Peter, Aslan bless him, saw that…and grinned. Reaching out, he laid his right hand on the prince's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "You have already done more than enough. You've kept my siblings safe, _and_ you've rallied the Narnians. _You_ are the rightful king, Caspian; it would be disastrous to risk you now. Everything hinges on this combat."

Edmund swallowed hard, and bent to fiddle with a particularly stubborn buckle, trying in vain to control the heat burning at the back of his eyes.

He resolutely ignored his little sister's knowing glance and the tenderness wreathing her face.

"I doubt my uncle will keep his word, King Peter." Caspian's quiet remark broke through the heartbeat of silence that had followed Peter's statement.

Edmund felt Lucy's small hand come down on his and squeeze—tightly—at their older brother's answer: "_Exactly_. That's why Ed suggested the archers and why we have a battle plan. We have to be ready. For _anything_."

"Be ready, yes," was Caspian's quiet response, "but are you?"

Lucy's hold became painful, and Edmund had neither the heart, nor the voice, to ask her to let go.

He risked a glance at Peter, who looked a slightly confused and rather startled. He'd clearly not expected the question and did not seem to know how to respond.

Caspian folded his arms across his chest, a small, stubborn frown working its way across his lips. "You are everything the Tales say you are, King Peter. Courageous, skilled,_ selfless_…" He looked away, frowning even more. "But they neglected to mention that you were also human—and very mortal." His eyes lighted on Lucy and Edmund, who were clinging together as they listened, and his dark gaze softened. "Perhaps something has been lost throughout the years because they also do not mention how your siblings felt when you left them behind."

Peter looked like he'd just been slammed into a wall. Edmund looked like someone had just drop-kicked him in the stomach and he turned away, shutting his eyes.

Their older brother never _had_ considered it from their point of view before. And Edmund was always careful not to mention it—the pain and the grief and the _worry_ Peter put him (and their sisters) through—because he knew what it would do to their brother.

He swallowed, straightening up and giving Lucy's hand a squeeze, before taking a deep breath and turning back to the two older boys, "It's all right, really, Caspian. Peter can _usually_ take care of himself." He shot a quirky, half-smile, half-(attempted) playful grimace at his older brother and received a startled, grateful half-smirk in return.

Caspian looked anything but convinced. "But, Edmund--"

The younger teen shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. "We've all participated in combats before, Caspian. Even Lucy. It's nothing we're unfamiliar with."

"Familiarity does not make it any easier," the prince argued softly.

"He's right, though, Caspian," that was Peter. Lucy was remaining oddly silent on the matter, and Edmund suspected she rather agreed with Caspian. "We are no strangers to death."

Caspian's lips drew into a thin line. "I did not mean to suggest that you were not. I am well aware you have had more than your share of experiences with death. But that is exactly the _point_, King Peter. You are willing to die for your siblings, your people, and your country," he looked away, "but you are not willing to live."

Edmund sat down on the ground—_hard_—and brought Lucy with him.

Peter reeled back from the prince a whole pace and a half.

And Caspian, though his face turned white, remained tight-lipped on the matter.

It was into this bizarre tableau that Susan walked a minute later, a saddle bag slung over her shoulder. She froze in the hall upon taking in the state of the four most important people in her life at the moment. "What did I miss?" she asked warily.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It took no small amount of convincing (on Edmund's part, incidentally) that everything was all right and _would_ be all right—eventually—to get the three oldest monarchs to leave he and Lucy alone for a few minutes.

As soon as they were, his youngest sister wasted little time colliding with his chest and wrapping her arms fiercely around his middle.

"I'm scared, Edmund," Lucy whispered into the fabric, clinging to his tabard with tiny fists. "Not just a little scared—really, really scared. Peter and Susan…"

Edmund hugged her. "I know, Lu," he choked, and hugged her tighter, thinking of Peter. "God, I _know_."

He felt tremors wrack her small frame. "Caspian was right," she murmured, "Caspian was _right_. Nothing ever, ever makes watching you and Peter risking yourselves, _Susan_ risking herself, any easier. And I won't _be_ there—I can't _help_ you if the worse should happen."

It was a frustration she had often struggled with when she was younger, and they were in Narnia. Whenever a potentially dangerous situation had come up, her brothers' first thoughts had always been for "their" girls' safety. Susan was happy enough to remain behind, but Lucy…Lucy who had been named "the Valiant" by Aslan himself, did not like it. At all. Because one or both of her brothers usually needed the cordial, because she _knew_ she could do something to help.

As she had grown older, "potentially dangerous" had changed into "potentially fatal," but she still did not like it anymore than she had as a young girl.

Now she was back to being nine, and all _three_ of her siblings were in more than a little danger. And Peter and Susan, who had come back from their own journey so very changed, seemed to be in the most.

/No, not the most,/ she silently corrected herself as she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep back a sob, glancing up at Edmund. /Just more than they've ever been. And Ed--/ she couldn't even continue the thought, and buried her wet face back in his chest.

She didn't _want_ this!

Edmund's sigh wafted through her hair as he squeezed her. "If it makes you feel any better, Lu," he murmured, "I'll carry a small phial of the cordial with me. Just in case Peter--"

"_No_!" Lucy's sharp exclamation interrupted him, and she pushed herself away from his chest to glare furiously at him. "If I give you a phial of the cordial you have to promise me _you_'_ll_ use it if you need it, too!"

"I can't promise you something like that, Lu," Edmund countered quietly. "You know that probably better than anyone."

Her bottom lip quivered as she stuck it out in a stubborn pout. "Then I'll give it to Peter."

Edmund gave her an amused half-smirk. "Then I'll just convince him to use it on himself or on someone else who needs it. You know I can."

"Then I'll tell _Caspian_--!"

Edmund merely raised an eyebrow at her, a sardonic smile quirking his lips.

A wet growl was his answer as she hit his chest with both her fists. "You stubborn _prat_!"

He responded by giving a rueful chuckle and drawing her into another hug. "There's a very simple solution to this, you know," he offered finally, voice soft, a few minutes later, rubbing his nose in her hair. "If you have enough, you can make sure each of the three—four of us," amended as he thought of Susan, "have a phial to carry."

The tension in Lucy's small body wavered an instant before it vanished.

Edmund grinned into her dark hair as she thumped his arm and spoke up again, voice strong, "Then you had _better_ promise, Edmund Pevensie!"

He did.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(A Half-Hour Later)

He did. He promised. And it had led him to where he was now, standing in the threshold of a side annex off the armory. He had been in here earlier today, suiting up in preparation to enter Miraz's camp.

Now it was Peter's turn, and Edmund entered the small chamber with a sigh, rolling a stoppered glass phial between his palms. His own had been safely tucked away inside his tunic. "I thought I asked you to wait," he murmured, stepping into the beams of sunlight that had made it through the various cracks in this room.

Peter started, twisting to face his younger brother as he struggled to pull his hauberk over his head.

Shaking his own, Edmund slipped the phial into a side pouch on his belt and moved to join his brother, gently yanking the chain mail shirt down over his head.

With a gasp as his head came through, the older boy shot him a sheepish smile and fumbled for the ties and latches behind his neck. Edmund lightly batted away his brother's hands and set about tying and latching them himself. "I know, but I wanted to get started on it, anyway."

Edmund gave a slightly thick snort. "Good job I came in just now, then. Otherwise Narnia's High King would have gotten stuck in his own armor." He again batted Peter's hands away when his brother reached for the pauldrons which were to protect his shoulders. "Hands off, Peter."

He received a playful scowl in return. "Says he who wrenched his back trying to get on his own just before the Tournament in the Lone Islands."

Edmund finished with the last few ties and reached for the chausses, chain mail leggings which he helped his brother pull on. Leaving Peter to tie them, he picked up the coif—or chain mail hood—which the older teenager would be wearing under his helmet. He waited until his brother had straightened and then slid that over the blond head, carefully tugging it back until the helmet was needed. "You were a little busy with the Baron's _lovely_ daughter, if I remember correctly."

His older brother chuckled. "Yes, she was rather...ah…_interested_ in me. Or was that her mother?" reflected pensively, a smile twitching at his lips.

Edmund snorted again, warmly, and picked up two boot-like pieces of armor called sabatons from the table where they had been sitting. "I believe the term is 'husband-hunting,' Peter." He handed them to his brother and allowed the older teen to lean on his shoulder as he strapped them over his leather boots. "Hence why I…er…'lost my footing' that night at supper." He grinned up at his brother when the older king regained his own balance.

Peter squeezed his arm with a tender smile. "Much to my eternal gratitude." He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "You've always watched out for me like that, really."

Edmund averted his eyes and busied himself with strapping the first of Peter's pauldrons onto his right shoulder. His fingers stumbled on the last clasp and he hissed as it pinched his skin.

Peter's warm hand came up to wrap around his and gently tugged it away. Edmund determinedly kept his eyes turned away from his brother's face. "I'm fine, Peter," he murmured, reaching for the second armored shoulder guard with the hand Peter hadn't captured.

His brother reached for the same pauldron with his other. "Ed--" he began.

A sharp look quelled the older boy's movement. "All right," Peter agreed amicably, holding up both his hands in surrender.

As his brother patiently submitted to his ministrations, Edmund found it increasingly difficult to keep the steadily building burn at the back of his eyes at bay. Deftly, he strapped the remaining shoulder guard onto his brother's arm before kneeling and attaching the greaves to Peter's shins. They were followed by his scarlet tabard which Edmund helped him tug over the hauberk.

Peter, however, stopped him before he could put on the vambraces or gauntlets. "I won't be able to touch you once they're on," he insisted softly.

Edmund could only shake his head repeatedly, backing away and desperately trying not to let the tears that wanted to fall, fall. He scrabbled blindly for the nearest piece of armor…and ended up grasping the hilt of Peter's sheathed sword.

When Edmund's shaking hands tried to give him Rhindon, the older king gripped fast to them and gingerly shook his head. "Keep it for now," he murmured, "I want…" he took in a deep breath, "I _need_ you to walk out there with me."

Edmund's entire world collapsed in upon itself.

* * *

_Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.—Ephesians 6:11_

* * *

_Tbc._


	13. The Trying of Faith Part 1

**WARNING:** Intensity (and some language) ahead. Please be advised!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Hi, all! Thirteenth chapter is here and ready to go. I have no _idea_ where the muse for this chapter came from (I could blame the Star Wars fic, _Shadows of the Future_, that I've just read, but that just wouldn't make any sense). The second half of this chapter might be slightly better than the first (although, I'll leave that up to you to decide), but for now, I'm pretty happy with it. When I'm more awake that might change, but for the moment…please enjoy!

_**P. S.:**_ In the second half, Peter mentions the nickname "Horse-Hearted" for Ed. I'm not sure where I picked this up from, so whoever the credit goes to for that wonderful epithet, please take it!

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you so much for your reviews! I hope you enjoy this!

_**Rating:**_ M (for language and intense moments)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(13)** _Prince Caspian _pg. 405 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Thirteen: The Trying of Faith (Part 1)_

_

* * *

_

_While they were doing this, Edmund asked anxiously, "What do you think of him, Peter?"_

"_Tough," said Peter. "Very tough. I have a chance if I can keep him on the hop till his weight and short wind come against him—in this hot sun too. To tell the truth, I haven't much chance else. Give my love to—to everyone at home, Ed, if he gets me. Here he comes into the lists again. So long, old chap. Goodbye, Doctor. And I say, Ed, say something specially nice to Trumpkin. He's been a brick."_

_Edmund couldn't speak. He walked back with the Doctor to his own lines with a sick feeling in his stomach._ (13)

* * *

He'd been wounded. He'd been tortured. He'd nearly _died_…far more times than he'd ever cared to count; he'd felt pain in ways no one, not even Peter, could fully comprehend.

And all of it—every single shred of agony—every rip of flesh and drop of blood…paled in comparison to a word. A Single. Bloody. _Word_.

"_You __don't__ need! You __never__ need…!"_

Edmund shut his eyes, trembling. Trying to ease the tightness in his chest, trying to reel in the emotions threatening to spiral out of control, he wrapped his hands more securely around his older brother's sword.

"_You are willing to die for your siblings, your people, and your country…but you are not willing to live."_

"How can you…how _can_ you expect me to walk you—_willingly_—to you death?!" Edmund choked out, as Peter's hands gently gripped his shoulders.

"_I never understood it, you know. I never understood how you could so easily attach so much of yourself to Peter, or he to you."_

"Fuckin' hell, Pete…" Edmund's knees gave out from underneath him and he crashed to the hard-packed earthen floor of the chamber, curling himself over Rhindon.

"_You know what I think?"_

"_What do you think?"_

He snapped his eyes open, glaring furiously up at his brother. "I _love _you, and you expect me to--"

"_I think you and Peter are soul mates."_

Peter dropped to his own knees, pulling him into a fierce embrace and cutting him off mid-sentence and mid-thought. His one hand tangled fast in the hair at the base of Edmund's neck and the other fisted tightly in the back of the younger king's tabard.

"_Is it very hard?"_

"_What?"_

"_Peter. Is it very hard? I know how close you two used to be…"_

"No, Edmund, _no_," his brother whispered fiercely into his hair, "I don't expect _anything_ of you. I'm sorry. I'm just being selfish. I shouldn't have asked you that. It's just--"

"_He was a wreck without you, Ed. I tried my best, but…"_

"I'll do it," Edmund interrupted hastily, voice thick and strained and not at all steady. It wasn't what he wanted, but what could he do? He'd never had much luck refusing something that so clearly meant so much to Peter, no matter how his soul railed against it.

"_Like this, Ed…Parry, then thrust. Uppercut, then spin. __And__…"_

Peter took in an unsteady breath and gratefully shut his eyes, any tension in his frame all but fleeing. After a moment he gently pulled back, holding his baby brother at an arm's length. His blue eyes were tender shadows as he opened them to meet the younger king's gaze.

Edmund turned away, attempting to scrub away the tears that had leaked onto his cheeks. "Please don't," he whispered when Peter went to speak.

"Ed--"

"Don't, Peter. Just _don't_. Now isn't the time."

His brother's frustration was apparent. "When _is_ the proper time, Ed? When I'm dying on the combat field—or worse, when _you_ are? We don't _have_ time, Edmund!"

Edmund gingerly stood up, easily slipping through Peter's grip as his brother moved to wrap his arms around him again. "There is always a time for everything, Peter," he returned softly.

The quaver in his voice gave him away.

Peter climbed to his own feet, quietly watching as his brother tucked Rhindon into his chest in a futile attempt to quell the tremors wracking his hands.

A moment later, the younger teen's dark eyes darted to the entrance as someone softly cleared their throat.

Startled, Peter jerked his head up. Caspian waited patiently in the threshold.

When both Golden Monarchs' eyes landed on him, the prince flushed. "The queens are ready, King Peter," the young Telmarine murmured, bowing.

Peter inclined his head, reaching for the vambraces and gauntlets which had thus far remained untouched. "Thank you, Caspian. Please tell the girls we're on our way."

Caspian bowed again, shooting Edmund a furtive glance of concern, before turning and swiftly exiting the chamber.

/He has every right to be worried,/ Edmund reflected hazily, swallowing thickly and shutting his eyes tight. /What a sight I must be making./

Peter's hand touched the back of his arm. "Ed?" whispered against his ear.

Edmund swallowed again, hastily. "I'm fine." Unfortunately, it came out rather slurred.

There was a warm snort from his brother behind him as Peter gently gripped his elbow and turned him around to face him. "You're as far from fine as you can possibly get."

Edmund blinked his eyes open, desperately trying to ignore his wavering vision. "Pete, _please_…" his very voice was a plea, "I can't handle this right now."

His older brother sighed. "Then will you at least promise me something, Ed?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Edmund nodded.

The hand that had been holding his arm suddenly rose to tenderly push back his bangs and Peter's eyes sought out his. "After all this is over, can you promise me that we'll talk? That we'll find some time for just the two of us?"

Tears stung Edmund's eyes. "Of course."

Peter stepped back, breathing out a long sigh, and handed the vambrace to his younger brother. "Then that is all I ask."

Edmund inhaled deeply, fighting every instinct that screamed he snatch up his brother and run. Carefully shouldering Rhindon, he accepted the leather brace that would go under Peter's gauntlet and curled both his hands around Peter's, gently tugging it on.

After the second vambrace had been sorted out, Edmund reached up and wordlessly touched his brother's golden hair, brown eyes naked and open as they met Peter's own. The older boy smiled and turned his head just in time to press a tender kiss to his younger brother's palm, offering him a small smile as he pulled away. "I'll follow in a minute, Ed," he murmured. "Head for the girls, will you?"

His throat so tight his airway was in danger of blocking, Edmund nodded and turned on heel, swiftly heading for the door. However, in its threshold he stopped, and paused, "Peter?" it was croaked.

"Yes, Ed?"

Edmund slid his hand in the pouch on his belt. Gingerly pulling out the stoppered phial, he rolled it gently between his palms.

He heard Peter take a few steps closer to him. "Edmund?"

Bringing the phial up to his lips, he murmured a fervent prayer ("I trust him to your mighty Paws, O Aslan.") and pressed a brief kiss to the glass, before turning, and deftly tossing it to his brother with barely more than a glance over his shoulder.

Silence a moment, then, "_ED_!"

He turned, raising an eyebrow at the rather peculiar look on Peter's face. It was a cross between disbelief and horror. "Yes? You know what that is, I trust?"

"Lu's cordial," the older boy sputtered, "but--"

"Before you give yourself an aneurysm…she's given a vial to each of us—you, Su, me, and Caspian. I expect you to use that if you need it, Peter. I promised you a talk, did I not?"

IOIOIOIOIOI

(Meanwhile)

It was glaringly obvious if you knew what to look for, Caspian reflected with a quiet sigh, watching from the threshold of the adjacent chamber as Queen Lucy stared off at nothing, her eyes troubled and dark.

This morning alone he'd seen more emotion than he'd ever cared for. _Not_ because he thought it was weak, or unbecoming, but because it _hurt_. It _hurt_ to see these young people, not so very different from himself, suffer through pain he was completely unfamiliar with.

He'd never had any friends his own age. Living in the castle as the Lord Protector's nephew and Heir Apparent to the Telmarine throne, he'd led a rather isolated (and incredibly lonely) existence. And he certainly _never_ had any siblings—his mother had died only weeks into childbirth, and his father (however little he remembered of him) had never remarried.

He'd never had the chance to. As soon as the queen had died, Miraz had made his move. Or, at least, that's what Dr. Cornelius had said.

So emotion like this—so fierce, so powerful, so _painful_—he couldn't possibly understand.

Someone gently prodded him in the back. "Aren't you going to go in?" a soft voice asked.

Caspian turned to find Queen Susan peering up at him with a slight grin.

He flushed. "Of course, my Lady," and stepped out quickly into the underground passageway.

Susan warmly rolled her eyes. "Back to that again, are we?"

The prince shrugged sheepishly as she followed him in. "I apologize, Queen Susan. As I told Queen Lucy, this is all still rather new to me."

His anxious glance at Lucy told Susan that he spoke of more than simply calling the four Golden Monarchs by name.

She sighed, quietly watching her little sister as Lucy shook herself and began stroking their mount's mane. "I take it Ed's not much better than Lu at the moment?"

Caspian shook his head, rubbing his arm. "No," he murmured, remembering how he'd found the two kings.

Edmund had been bent double over his brother's sword and Peter…Peter had been holding onto his younger brother as if his very life depended upon it.

As Caspian realized, it quite possibly did.

"This is killing him," remarked softly as the prince recalled the pure _agony_ he'd only briefly caught a glimpse of when Edmund had turned to look at him.

Susan shrugged helplessly, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered. "You mean Ed?" Caspian nodded. "I wish I could say it's always been that way. Certainly, it was bad, but this…" She trailed off and shook her head.

"He's never exactly had a…how did he put it…'mad megalomaniac' after his blood before," Lucy's dark observation came from in front of them, where she had shifted away from the steed and now watched the two of them as they joined her, her eyes no less dark than her voice.

Susan slid an arm around her little sister's waist, "What about the White Witch, Lu?"

Lucy went to reply…but it was not her sister who answered her.

"Peter never had to face her in single combat, Su," Edmund's quiet voice came from the threshold of the adjoining room, causing all three of them to turn.

His sisters immediately noticed he carried Peter's sword. "Edmund?" Lucy asked tightly, voice frightened.

Edmund squeezed his eyes shut. "Never mind, Lu." He opened them. "Are you and Su all set?"

His little sister looked positively murderous when he didn't respond, but Susan bent close and whispered something in her ear. Lucy's face crumpled.

Squeezing her waist, Susan looked up at their younger brother with a small, sad smile. "As well as we can be. I trust you beat into Peter's head that he had better be alive and relatively uninjured when we return?"

There was a warm snort from the doorway to the adjacent chamber. "Close enough."

When his siblings and Caspian looked up at him, Peter—now fully dressed for combat with the exception of his helmet—stepped out of the annex. Walking along the corridor towards them, he flashed the phial containing the cordial for them to see. "He threw _this_ at my head and all but demanded I use it." A sidelong glance at his currently blushing little brother and an amused smile started twitching at his lips. "Apparently, he has far more faith in my reflexes than he ought."

The older boy grunted out an "Oof" when Edmund's elbow connected solidly with his ribs.

In spite of herself, Lucy giggled.

Peter's eyes softened. Pulling to a halt, he carefully slipped the phial into his tunic, underneath the dwarf-wrought armor he wore. Stepping forward, he swept her up into a tight hug. "Thank you, Lu," he murmured into her hair.

Lucy merely buried her face in the juncture between his shoulder and neck, trying to ignore the cold press of the chain mail, and inhaled his familiar scent, trying to memorize it.

In the background she heard Edmund's quiet voice murmur to Susan, "You be careful, too, you hear?" and rightly assumed that their own good-byes were taking place.

Peter shifted beneath her. "Lu?" whispered. She nodded wordlessly against his shoulder. "Be safe, all right? Don't do anything foolish and make sure Susan doesn't, either."

She snorted warmly as her older brother carefully set her up on the saddle and, stepping back, released her. "Only if you promise the same."

Peter gave her a rakish, half-grin, dragging his gloved hand through his tousled blond hair. "Of course."

There was another, rather more skeptical snort, this one from Susan. "That'll be the day." Apparently, Edmund had already helped her up. Easily, she slipped her arms around Lucy's waist.

The horse underneath them snorted, too, impatiently stamping his left foreleg. Caspian, who had been holding the animal's head steady, grinned up at them. "Apparently, he agrees with you."

Peter looked put out, although the twitching of his lips gave him away. "I'm not sure the horse's input counts, Caspian."

His response was a (rather indignant) whinny from said horse.

Edmund chuckled, slipping into place at Peter's right side. "I don't think he took very kindly to that, Peter," looking up at Lucy and grinning as he said this. Lightly, he squeezed his little sister's knee.

Peter snorted this time, fondly. "You're the Horse-Hearted, Ed, not me." He reached up and squeezed Susan's hand.

Caspian glanced curiously at him. "Horse-Hearted?"

While Edmund blushed, his siblings smiled. "Philip's nickname for Ed," Peter explained with a warm smirk.

"Philip?" Caspian looked even more puzzled.

"Talking Horse," Edmund replied simply, stepping none-too-lightly on Peter's toes. "He also happened to be one of my closest friends." He grinned slightly when Peter merely raised an eyebrow at him, completely unaffected, as the sabatons pretty much prevented any sort of pressure from getting through. "Unrelated friends, that is."

The prince pretended not to notice the arm that snaked around Edmund's back from the High King in response.

Caspian raised his eyes to Lucy, glancing momentarily over the younger queen's shoulder at her sister and dipping his head to her (to which Susan merely rolled her eyes fondly and smiled), before locking gazes with the younger girl. "Please be careful, Queen Lucy," he entreated softly. "I think all of us would like the two of you back alive."

Lucy took up the reins, smiling slightly. "We will be, Caspian."

"Be sure to watch out for my uncle's sentries. They will have horses and _crossbows_, Lucy."

Susan raised an eyebrow, her smile threatening to turn into a full-fledged grin as she looked at her brothers. "And here I thought you two were supposed to be the over excessive worriers in this family."

While Edmund grimaced at her and Peter grinned sheepishly, Caspian flushed deeply and stepped away, unable to quite conceal the startled spark of delight in his eyes. To be accepted as a friend of the Golden Monarchs was one thing, but to be accepted, indeed, _acknowledged_ as part of their family…that was an entirely different matter.

Lucy gave him a warm half-smirk before pulling on the reins and lightly kicking the horse's side with her heels, "Yah!" she cried.

And with that the steed, the two queens, and Old Narnia's best hope took off down the tunnel.

_

* * *

_

_Be strong and of good courage, fear not, nor be afraid…for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.—Deuteronomy 31:6_

_

* * *

_

_Tbc._


	14. The Trying of Faith Part 2

**WARNING:** Er, yeah…you might want to consider grabbing a stress ball to squeeze. This chapter gets sort of intense…

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::rolls eyes:: You know, when an author says they plan to revise a story, they usually do it _after_ the story has finished. ::sighs:: Ah, well. This chapter just underwent some extensive revisions—I just couldn't leave it alone! So I'm hoping this isn't too irritating for my readers as I like it so much better than the original ones. Chapter Fourteen and Fifteen have just been combined, so please enjoy this (relatively new) chapter!

_**Reviewers:**_Thank you all so much for your reviews, I appreciate every single one of them!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intensity)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(14)** _Prince Caspian_ p. 404 in _The Completed Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Fourteen: The Trying of Faith (Part 2)_

* * *

"_You've seen more battles than I," said Caspian. "Is there any chance now?"_

"_Precious little," said Edmund. "I suppose he might __just__ do it. With luck."_

"_Oh, why did we let it happen at all?" said Caspian._ (14)

* * *

Almost as soon as they burst out of the How, Lucy sensed that something had gone terribly, horribly, utterly and completely _wrong_.

The steed whinnied and shied, fighting the reins as she abruptly jerked them to a halt.

Susan's arms around her waist tightened. "_Lucy_?" she hissed anxiously.

"I can't, Susan!" came the fierce cry from the younger girl in front of her. "They're completely outnumbered, in over their heads, and I _won't_--!"

Her sister blinked, clearly startled. "Won't? Won't _what_, Lucy?"

"Leave them!" she gestured wildly behind them at Aslan's How where, even as they spoke, the horns called Narnia's High King to single combat. "You _know_ how Edmund gets—what he'll _do_! And _Peter_--!"

"Lucy, listen to me," Susan spoke up quickly, trying to keep her voice calm and level and ignore the sense of urgency that flushed through her veins. "We can't go back. Peter's trying to buy us time. If we _don't_ go search for Aslan, what do you think will happen—to him? To _them_? We need Aslan—and you have the surest chance of finding Him."

"But--!"

At that moment, there was a sudden, sharp _thwack_ as a crossbow arrow embedded itself in the trunk of a nearby oak tree.

Their horse neighed and reared, brave and noble beast though he was, forcing the two girls to cling to the saddle and each other. "_NO_!" Lucy shrieked as the steed shot forward, his hooves thundering over and through the bracken.

Several sets of additional hooves clattered and thudded across the turf behind them. "They've seen us!" she cried. "We've got to circle around and come up behind!"

"_No_!" Susan's exclamation was forceful, nearly lost though it was in the clatter of hooves. "Keep going straight, Lucy—we haven't a choice!"

"But, _Susan_--!"

"Caspian will be there with Edmund and Peter, Lucy! We can't do anything else—you know the rules of single combat!"

"That doesn't make me feel any better, Susan!"

"Just keep going!" Susan cried over the thunder of the steed's hooves. A second and a third crossbow bolt whizzed over the two queens' heads. "_Duck_!" her older sister shouted, shoving Lucy's head down and ducking herself. The arrows sailed a hair's breadth over their heads to embed themselves in the trees around them with two resounding _thwacks_.

Lucy gave a strangled yell. Branches lashed at her face as they sped through the wood.

"Lucy!" the shout penetrated the panicked haze of her mind. So did a sharp crack as one of the arrows shattered the branch of a tree overhead. "Lucy, _stop_! Stop, Lu!" Then a sudden jerk as Susan grabbed the reins from behind her and dragged them to a halt. Lucy felt her older sister swing off the saddle and onto the ground behind her.

"Wha-what? Susan, what are you _doing_?!" a panicked cry as she twisted around, trying to see where her sister was going.

The look in Susan's dark eyes as her sister squarely met hers caused Lucy's very blood to freeze.

"I'm sorry, Lucy," the older girl's voice trembled just the slightest bit as she released the reins, "but it looks like you have to make the rest of the journey on your own—yah!" and she soundly slapped the horse's rear flank.

With a neigh and a whinny, the steed reared again and galloped into the forest, Lucy's despairing, agonized cry echoing behind them.

IOIOIOIOIOI

In the silence that followed the last clattering echo of the horse's hooves, Caspian slipped back to join the two legendary kings. A hushed whisper came from Peter beside him: "Aslan keep them safe."

The prince glanced at the High King out of the corner of his eye and turned to face him, hesitantly reaching out for the older king's shoulder. "I am sure He will," he responded softly, giving the shoulder beneath his hand a hard squeeze.

"He'll find them, Pete," Edmund added quietly, still gazing straight ahead down the tunnel. A faint grin flitted across the younger king's countenance as he finally turned to look at his brother. "And if He isn't able to, I'm sure Lucy will find _Him_, even if she has to move heaven and earth to do it."

Casting a grateful smile at Caspian (who bowed his head in acknowledgement), Peter turned and lightly punched his younger brother's arm. "Su will, too, Ed. And probably just as easily. There were a couple of times on our way here when she insisted she saw—and was following—Aslan."

Wonder spread across Caspian's features. "You have seen Him?"

Peter shifted to quirk a small grin at the prince. "Susan did first. Numerous times. I only saw Him once—at the entrance to the How when we came rushing in here. It was enough."

When Edmund released a faint breath, Caspian glanced at him. Silently he noted that, already, the younger king's shoulders seemed less tense after that one statement than they had in the last two days combined.

Peter noticed, too—and smiled, eyes and voice warm: "I'm all right now, Ed," he murmured, lightly smoothing back his brother's hair and earning a reluctant smile in response. "I promise."

But when horns split the air outside a moment later, the prince wordlessly observed that the younger king's grip had tightened on the sword belt slung over his shoulder.

Shaking his head sadly, Caspian turned to meet the older boy's gaze. "That is the call to combat, King Peter," he informed him quietly. At the sudden shudder of the ground and the small cascade of soil and miniature boulders down on their heads, Narnia's newest king pressed his lips together in a thin line. "And it seems they have brought the cavalry with them."

IOIOIOIOIOI

As they raced through the trees, Lucy tried hard to ignore the wavering haze of her vision, keeping her eyes locked on the forest path ahead of them. With a dull sort of surprise, she realized she'd never asked Caspian the horse's name. It was such an inconsequential thing to worry about, but so much better than the alternative.

Anything, to keep from thinking about her siblings' fates.

Her own fate, however, could not long be ignored.

She screamed as another crossbow bolt (conspicuously absent until now) whizzed uncomfortably close to her left ear, embedding itself in a tree just ahead and to the right of her. There were shouts behind her. Horses' hooves.

_Whizz. Thwack. Whizz. Thwack._

She ducked twice and bit back another cry, trying to stifle and smother the fear knotting her stomach. Leaning until she was almost parallel to the steed's neck, gripping the reins until her knuckles were white, she urged, "Faster, Master Horse! Faster!" and would have felt rather silly about it were she not so close to outright panicking. Gone was the Valiant Queen who had defied her oldest brother and High King to follow Aslan. Without any of her siblings or Caspian at her back, she was now merely the terrified nine-year-old who had consistently been fighting her twenty-four-year-old self for the past half-year (she didn't count the time spent at the Professor's).

A whisper, nearly a rumbling purr, brushed against her right cheek:

"_Peace be to you, Dear One. Fear not."_

Lucy jerked her head up…and narrowly avoided striking her forehead on a low hanging branch. When another arrow flew a shade too close to her face and nicked her left cheek, she choked back a yell at the white-hot flash of pain and bent forward again, dark hair whipping around her.

"_Dear One, trust in me. I will never forsake you."_

This time, Lucy listened.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The moment they emerged from the How, Edmund was aware of Miraz's eyes on him. They were predatory, almost anticipatory. The usurper clearly had not forgotten the promise he had made—if it could be called that—to Edmund in the pavilion. Unfortunately, from long experience, Edmund knew that it wouldn't take long for Peter to pick up on it.

It was almost scary, really, how well Peter could sense danger when it came to any of his siblings.

It was certainly scary when he reacted. Too many times holding his brother's broken body, too many memories of his brother's warm, alarmingly rapid flow of blood coating his hands and coloring his nightmares, had had Edmund on edge hours before the combat had even taken place.

And the smirk that touched Miraz's lips now, as the usurper took in the picture the two brother-kings presented, was anything but reassuring. Indeed, it was positively gleeful.

Still smirking, Miraz, where he sat on a stool, leaned over and whispered something to one of the soldiers helping him into his last pieces of armor. The soldier looked utterly startled for a moment, unease and uncertainty flickering across his face, before nodding, and slowly climbing to his feet.

As Edmund watched, the soldier took a crossbow from Glozelle—who was standing off to the side—with a half-apologetic shrug. Even as he relinquished his grip on the weapon, the General pressed his lips into a thin, displeased line.

When he raised his head to gaze across the lists at Edmund, his eyes and mouth were grim.

Edmund shivered. /Somehow, I don't think he's trying to hold a staring contest,/ and gave a barely perceptible nod, dipping his head in acknowledgement of the only warning the man had been able to give.

Glozelle shut his eyes and turned away.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The horse gave a frantic neigh and reared as she yanked back abruptly on the reins, unseating her. Her cry as she hit the ground and rolled caught halfway in her throat as all air was forced out of her lungs.

She didn't even have enough air to scream as one of the Telmarines who had been pacing her reined in his own horse and raised his sword in preparation to strike her.

Without so much as a yell, the man toppled from his horse and into the undergrowth, a crossbow bolt protruding from his side.

"_Lucy_!"

She barely had time to register the shout and the utter familiarity of the voice before yet another Telmarine was upon her. But the soldier never touched her.

With a resounding, echoing clang of metal meeting metal, a second steed—indeed, the other half of the pair they had brought with them to the How on the day they met Caspian—and his rider abruptly appeared between Lucy and the Telmarine soldier.

The man had no chance to react. Within seconds Caspian—for Caspian it was—knocked him clear off the other horse's back. A heartbeat and pounding of hooves later, the soldier's steed was gone.

Paying little attention to the remaining Telmarine, the prince tugged his mount around, dark eyes wild and searching frantically for Lucy. When he spotted her, he dropped the reins and literally tumbled off the horse's back, scrambling to reach her.

As soon as he had, Caspian jerked her to her feet and crushed her in a hug so hard that she squeaked. "I _knew_ I should have gone with you!" he whispered fiercely into her hair.

Lucy blinked. Before she could so much as eke out a reply, there was a sudden roar, glorious and fierce, from behind them.

Both she and Caspian whipped around in enough time to find themselves face to face with a Telmarine crossbow bolt, its owner's finger mere inches from the trigger. Another, all-resounding roar and the soldier's face went white as he stared in horror at something over their shoulders. A rush of warm, delicious air over their heads, and before the man could so much as flee, a great, golden blur landed in front of them and lunged, catching the man's neck in his jaws.

Lucy gave a cry and darted forward, "Oh, Aslan, _don't_! _Please_ don't! Hasn't it gone far enough already?"

The Lion (for it could only _be_ the Lion) dropped the man into the bracken and held him firmly in place with one heavy paw, a fierce snarl on his lips. Then he turned…and smiled at her, his entire face softening.

As Caspian's hand touched Lucy's shoulder and lightly tugged on it, Aslan raised his great shaggy head and gazed at the boy-king behind her, "What do you wish to be done with him, King Caspian?"

Lucy began weeping and Caspian gently pulled her back into his arms. As he gazed at the soldier, the prince felt his lips tighten and his eyes go hard. He wanted nothing more than to kill this man who would have shot his friend with little remorse, but he remembered Edmund and remembered Glozelle and was all too aware of Lucy's tears soaking his jerkin. "Let him go," he snarled at last, turning away and wrapping both his arms tightly around Lucy's quivering shoulders.

Aslan did.

When the man did nothing but stare, the Lion roared. In his haste to get away, the man stumbled over backwards before he finally ran.

With a wide smile, Aslan shook out his mane and turned back to Caspian. "Yes," he rumbled, "yes, I am well-pleased, _indeed_."

"Told you so," Lucy retorted thickly. Caspian's cheeks went red.

Around a sob, Lucy choked out a laugh.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The last few minutes before the combat were a blur, really. Vaguely, Edmund was aware that Caspian ought to be at his shoulder—the prince had expressed his misgivings often enough about leaving either one of the other kings unaccompanied. As it was, the young Telmarine's slightly worrisome absence barely registered.

Nothing registered, really, except the brief brush of Peter's lips against his skin and Peter's hand as it grasped Rhindon's hilt.

Edmund did not have to look at Miraz to know the man had caught that exchange. As Peter drew his sword and cheers erupted from the Narnians behind him, the usurper's smirk grew.

When he stood, the Telmarine turned to the lords clustered around him, accepting his helmet from one and his sword from another. He paused to say something to the first (Edmund was nearly certain it was the one called Sopespian) and then he was in the center of the combat field, arms held out to the side and waiting. For Peter.

"If their Majesties are _quite_ done…" Miraz's remark was less a drawl and more a provocation.

Edmund ignored him, turning to his brother. "Remember what I said," he ordered softly, turning his brother around to make some last minute adjustments to his armor. "No matter what happens, no matter what he tries--"

"—Keep fighting," Peter interrupted tightly, shifting his grip on his sword's pommel and his feet into his ready stance. "I know, Ed. God, I _know_…but I wish to heaven you were far away from here."

Edmund chose not to answer that half-plea. Instead, tightening one last fastener, he pressed a swift kiss to Peter's cheek, murmuring against the skin there, "Aslan be your wings and guide your steps, brother."

Then Peter was gone, out of his reach and far from the body that could (and often did) serve as the High King's shield.

IOIOIOIOIOI

When Peter finally joined Miraz in the circle of the ruins, there were no niceties exchanged. Miraz had only one thing on his mind, and he would do anything to get it. His greeting to Peter, therefore, was perhaps to be expected, "There is still time to surrender."

As the two began to circle each other, swords out and already testing each other's defenses, Peter set his jaw. "Well, feel free," he ground out.

Edmund did not like the smile that curled the usurper's lips in response. "You misunderstand me," the older man purred, gesturing sharply to the soldier handling the crossbow. The bolt was brought around and held level with Edmund's chest, the Telmarine's finger hovering just above the trigger.

A sneer replaced the smile on Miraz's face. "It is not your life I seek to gain."

When Peter's eyes widened and his face went white, Edmund felt his stomach plummet. /Bleeding _Hell_…!/ he swore furiously. He'd anticipated this would happen, indeed, even expected it, but to play this carelessly with Peter…

"Your Highness will _not_ let this distract you!" the younger of Narnia's two legendary kings fairly barked out. The tone was so reminiscent of Oreius that Peter immediately snapped to attention.

Somewhere in the midst of his blind horror, Edmund was darkly amused to note that several Telmarines across from him had done the same. As for the Narnians…he merely started profusely thanking Aslan that the only ones within hearing range were Glenstorm and the oldest of the Bulgy Bears—and that was bad enough.

It took only seconds for the Centaur General to assess the situation.

When the Centaur began to rear, Edmund snapped his hand up. "Your orders are to stay _as_ you are and _where_ you are, General," he commanded sharply, making a mental note to apologize deeply and repeatedly to the good-hearted Centaur later (because by now he was determined there _would_ _be_ a later). "King Caspian and the High King are your _first_ priorities."

If ever a Centaur could look mutinous, this one did. Edmund loved him all the more for it.

"I would respectfully beg to differ, my Liege," he murmured, "and I suspect your royal brother would say the same." But he eased himself back onto his forelegs.

Edmund smiled tightly, "Thank you, General." /Mental note: do _not _go near a practice field with Glenstorm—or Peter—for a _very_ long time./

"If we could continue this, _your Highness_," the sneer in Miraz's voice was unmistakable as Edmund jerked his attention back to the combat field.

The eleven-year-old gritted his teeth. "By all means, go ahead," he ground out, voice barely civil and pure ice.

Miraz swept into a mock-bow—it could only _be_ a mock-bow—before turning back to Peter…who looked, at this point, nothing short of murderous. Murderous…and desperate.

Edmund cursed under his breath. Shifted. And cursed again. The crossbow remained leveled at the youngest king's heart.

/You had better make _damn_ sure you win this combat, Peter Pevensie,/ Edmund thought furiously, wordlessly snarling at the smirk on Miraz's lips and not noticing as Glozelle discreetly shifted into place beside his soldier, /because if something happens to me…Aslan help me, I know it will _**destroy**_ you./

_

* * *

_

_In your patience possess ye your souls.—Luke 21:19_

_

* * *

_

_Tbc._


	15. The Conduit of Hope

**WARNING:** You may end up nearly having a heart attack at different points in this chapter—it's _messy_, it's _emotional_, it's jam-packed with tension…in short ::grins:: everything I enjoy writing in a chapter. Enjoy! And…erm…direct all medical bills to my lawyer.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::grins sheepishly:: This chapter was a bear and a half to write, so apologies for the rather late arrival. I've pounded and hammered and fine-tuned this as much as I could stand, and will probably hammer and fine-tune it even more once I finish this story (now all I have to do is remind myself that this is hands-off 'til then ::sighs::). I hope you like it, as this is one of those chapters that just begged to be let out.

_**P.S.:**_ You'll see that some pretty extensive revisions have been done to the previous chapter. What _was_ chapter fifteen has been combined with chapter fourteen, and I like that so much better than what I had. So drop in and read it, if you'd like!

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you so much, everyone! A word of advice/warning/heads up: because I'm posting this as chapter fifteen, those of you who would like to review _this_ chapter fifteen won't be able to unless you leave an anonymous one or PM me ::sighs:: I'd forgotten that little glitch from last time, so I apologize ahead of time. I know it can be irritating as hell.

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intensity)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(16)** _Prince Caspian_ pgs. 405 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Fifteen: The Conduit of Hope_

_

* * *

_

_"Coward!" booed the Telmarines. "Why don't you stand up to him? Don't you like it, eh? Thought you'd come to fight, not dance. Yah!"_

_"Oh, I do hope he won't listen to them," said Caspian._

_"Not he," said Edmund. "You don't know him—Oh!"—for Miraz had got in a blow at last, on Peter's helmet. Peter staggered, slipped sideways, and fell on one knee. The roar of the Telmarines rose like the noise of the sea. "Now, Miraz!" they yelled. "Now. Quick! Quick! Kill him!" But indeed there was no need to egg the usurper on. He was on top of Peter already. Edmund bit his lips till the blood came, as the sword flashed down on Peter. It looked as if it would slash off his head. Thank heavens! It had glanced down his right shoulder. The Dwarf-wrought mail was sound and did not break. _(15)

* * *

Peter never fought like this. That was the foremost thought in Edmund's mind as he watched his brother battle Miraz. It was too uncoordinated, too impulsive, too _dangerous_…

And Miraz was winning.

It wasn't obvious at first. Peter had been—and always would be—the finest swordsman Edmund knew. He favored brute strength, but that didn't mean he was sloppy. He didn't hesitate to strike, but he always made sure he was protected. He could lunge and hammer, but always ensured he could backtrack. He seldom ducked, but always kept a path open for escape. Moreover, he had split-second timing.

None of it seemed to be available to his brother today.

It didn't help that a second crossbow had its sights set on Edmund now, too. No matter where he moved or how he shifted, both crossbow bolts always remained leveled at his heart. No amount of snarling or glaring frightened either soldier into submission.

He couldn't do anything else for fear of distracting Peter—whose awareness of his younger brother's predicament was all too apparent.

/Actually,/ Edmund observed darkly, /I'd call it detrimental./ Which, of course, was exactly what Miraz had intended all along. He gave another wordless snarl, brown eyes molten with fury, as the usurper savagely backhanded his older brother across the face and Peter's helmet clattered to the ground. /Bloody bastard./

The High King staggered, but righted himself, shaking his head to clear it. He brought his shield up in just enough time to block an overhand strike aimed at his neck. In one fluid motion, he crouched underneath his shield and swiped at the older man's leg.

Miraz howled as the sword edge cut through his legging like fire through mist. First blood.

The Old Narnians cheered. Edmund choked as, three seconds later, Miraz chucked his brother to the ground and slammed his armored heel down on Peter's shield.

His brother yelled.

A pained, distinctly feminine cry suddenly split the air, "Edmund!"

Startled, Edmund jerked his head up, staring as a black steed thundered across the meadow towards him (and the combatants), bearing two riders on its back: Caspian…and Susan.

With a flash of panic, the younger king realized Lucy was not with them.

As the sound of steel screeching against steel echoed throughout the clearing in front of the How, Edmund wrenched his eyes back to the combat. He was just in time to see Peter snarl and lunge at Miraz, hammering down on the usurper's shoulder. Miraz barely managed to block it and roll away.

Caspian and Susan joined him two minutes later.

"_Where's Lucy_?" he hissed to Susan when she gained his right side, eyes locked on the combat in front of him and trying to fight down his rising panic.

Little reassurance came from the fight—Miraz had just cracked Peter soundly across the face with his shield.

He felt Susan's nails dig into his arm as she saw it, too. "She got through," whispered, as she glanced over to his left with a crooked smile, "with a little help."

Edmund felt Caspian's hand touch his other arm as a half-checked yell came from Miraz. /Oh, _well done_, Peter,/ came the fervent thought as his brother slammed the pommel of his sword in Miraz's wounded leg.

He released a breath and turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of the prince's pale face as his friend watched the combat. "Thanks," he muttered.

Caspian shook his head. "It was not just me, King Edmund."

Realization slowly colored Edmund's white face. "Aslan," he breathed, half the tension in his shoulders immediately easing. "She's with Aslan."

He sensed Caspian's nod and the world suddenly righted itself on its proper axis.

The pressure on his right arm lifted as a kiss was dropped on his cheek. A muffled patter announced that Susan had taken off towards the How.

Caspian turned to Edmund, who met his eyes, "She has gone to alert the archers, Edmund." The prince gave him a tight-lipped grin. "No one will shoot you without first getting an arrow in the neck."

Relief brought Edmund's face back to quite its normal color, and at that precise moment, they heard a sudden roar from the combat arena:

"Tell your men to point their crossbows _away_ from my brother!"

IOIOIOIOIOI

Edmund and Caspian whirled around in enough time to see Narnia's High King hammer down on Miraz's shield arm with his sword.

It took only seconds for the younger king to notice the awkward way Peter handled his shield, as well as the translucency of his face. Sweat dripped off his brother's golden hair.

Edmund spat out a curse that made Caspian stare, "…Bloody, self-sacrificing, noble _twat_!"

"King Edmund?" the query posed by the prince was alarmed. Hesitantly, he glanced at the younger king, able to just make out the sheen of tears threatening to spill down his friend's cheeks.

Edmund ignored him, keeping his eyes locked on the single combat and watching as Peter drove Miraz backwards with a battering series of backhands and uppercuts. Caspian noticed he was worrying his bottom lip.

A moment later, Miraz's sword, as well as Rhindon, clattered to the ground.

For several endless seconds, the only sound in the arena was the harsh, rapid panting of the combatants. Where he stood over Miraz, armored fist clenched in preparation to strike, Peter ground out harshly, "Tell your men, if you value your life, to turn their crossbow bolts _away _from my brother."

Very slowly, his eyes locked on Peter, Miraz raised his hand and brought it down. With a shuffle and a clatter, the crossbows were directed at the ground.

Beside him, Edmund felt Caspian relax.

Where he had remained on his knees, the prince's uncle sneered, "Does his Highness _now_ need respite?"

As his younger brother watched, Peter took in a deep gulp of air. "Ten minutes?"

Miraz's retort elicited a grim smile from the youngest of Narnia's kings. "Seven," the usurper spat.

IOIOIOIOIOI

When Peter stumbled out of the lists and up the broken stone steps into Edmund's arms—bruised, bleeding, winded, and clearly in pain—the younger king gave him one, not-entirely-gentle shake and buried his head in his older brother's neck. "Peter," it was a moan, "by the Lion you have to _stop_ this. You're no use to Narnia _dead_!"

Peter paid him little mind, "I'm fine." A breath-sob against his cheek, "I'm fine. R-Really." His hands feverishly checked over his little brother's body. "Are _you_ all right? Are _you_ okay?" A shaky breath in, "You're not injured, are you? He didn't—They haven't—" The older boy's hands ran agitatedly up and down his arms and along his spine, checking his pulse, feeling his heartbeat, even taking his temperature.

"Pete…" he began, pulling back when he felt his older brother begin shaking.

There was a bitten back sob…

"Peter," he stated, a little firmer.

And a gasp like a man drowning.

"_Peter_!" he near-yelled.

Wild, tear-bright blue eyes sought out his, "_What_?" his brother demanded.

Seizing the front of his tabard, Edmund soundly cracked their foreheads together.

Shocked out of his hysterics, Peter stumbled backwards. "…Ouch," he muttered ruefully, righting himself.

Edmund scowled, vigorously rubbing his own forehead. "Indeed," he observed tightly.

There was a strangled laugh from Caspian beside them and a polite cough from Glenstorm behind them. "An…interesting method to be sure, my Kings," the Centaur remarked mildly as they turned to face him, "and I daresay one that often came in handy. Nonetheless, my duty is to_ all_ Kings of Narnia, and last I looked, my Lord," this to Edmund, "there were three of you, not two. If I may be so frank," he leveled the second youngest of Narnia's monarchs with an even stare, "you deserved that."

Still rubbing his forehead, Edmund turned his scowl to the Centaur, but did not refute him.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It could never be simple, Edmund reflected bitterly a few minutes later, collecting several bandages and a water skin. Rather viciously, he ripped the bandages in two and lathered an already-made salve of medicinal herbs on the linen. But then, when had loving someone ever been remotely simple?

He wasn't naïve enough to believe the Telmarines would keep their word…and that terrified him. Another onslaught like the one Peter had just endured, and Edmund wasn't sure his brother would _live_ to participate in the battle, let alone take Lucy's cordial.

He was tempted to tell his brother to simply take it, to hell with chivalry and honor, but he knew Peter would never agree. He was simply too damn proud and too damn _noble_.

And Edmund, who loved his older brother far more than he ought, could never ask Peter to be anything less than what he was.

It didn't take him much longer to sort out the bandages. Once they had been taken care of, Edmund set them aside. Turning to face his brother, he silently handed him the uncapped water skin. When Peter accepted it with a tired nod of thanks and took a sip, Edmund stood up and gently pushed back his brother's sweat-matted hair away from his face. Carefully, he studied the dazed blue eyes that gazed back at him.

Unnerved by the close scrutiny, Peter started to shift…and immediately had to stop, his face paling rapidly.

Edmund felt his stomach muscles tense.

Peter had a dislocated shoulder. That much was apparent. And if he couldn't even _move_ without coming perilously close to fainting, then it had to be bad.

Deciding that this injury was rather more severe than the others (and thinking darkly to himself that he should be grateful it was _only _a dislocated shoulder), Edmund swiftly repositioned himself behind his brother.

Without a word, Peter shut his eyes and leaned his head back against Edmund's chest, clearly expecting what was next and trusting his little brother wholly to do it.

Edmund felt his own eyes start to burn.

At that moment, Peter spoke, "What do you think happens back at home, when you die here?"

It was an almost idle whisper, but Edmund could hear the thinly veiled fear behind it.

Rage and horror shot through his veins. Even as his head spun, Edmund gave a faint snarl and snapped his brother's shoulder firmly back in place. Ignoring the strangled yell it evoked and forcing his brother to remain bent over, the younger king leaned close and hissed into his ear, "Not on my watch, Peter. Not _ever_ on my watch."

When Edmund finally released him, the blue eyes that turned to him were filled with far too much emotion. "Ed--" Peter began.

Edmund shook his head angrily. This was something Peter had always done when combats or battles were going awry. There always came a point when the High King felt that everything that _needed_ to be said _had_ to be said, no matter how inopportune the moment.

Frankly, his little brother hated it. It always felt a little too much like "goodbye."

"You're so bloody noble," Edmund snarled softly, "so bloody noble, and so bloody brave, and so bloody _not_ what I am. How do you _expect_ me to react, Peter? You're mine. You're going to _remain_ mine. And you're bloody coming back to me whether you like it or not!"

Then flushed, as his mind caught up with his mouth.

Peter chuckled wearily. "I think I should be angry," he muttered fondly, tightly gripping Edmund's arm and carefully levering himself up onto his feet, "or at least insulted. But on further reflection, I think I'll choose to be flattered, instead. Don't you know," he cast his little brother a warm look, "that was almost sweet."

Edmund flushed even more deeply red and, clearing his throat, glanced away, "Yes, well…we're going to forget all about that little detail."

His brother actually laughed, and Edmund tried to ignore the sound of the horns calling Peter back to combat. "Protest all you want, Ed," the older boy chuckled thickly, "but you've been like that your entire life. So you tell me, beautiful brother of mine…why should it be any different now?"

At the next sounding of the horn, all the last (albeit shaky) defenses Edmund had built up came crumbling down. "Because you could die," was the cracked whisper.

The smile Peter laid on him stole his breath away. "Not when I have you to come back to," he murmured, pressing his own fingers to his lips and touching them to Edmund's forehead, before accepting Rhindon from Caspian and heading back out into the lists.

_

* * *

_

_Abide thou with me, fear not: for he that seeketh my life seeketh thy life: but with me thou shalt be in safeguard.—1 Samuel 22:23_

* * *

_Tbc._


	16. The Determining of Fates

**WARNING:** This chapter is as angsty and emotional and messy as you could wish (not to mention precedes several _other_ equally messy, emotional, and angsty chapters); I'd suggest a hankie and a stuffed animal accompany you on this reading…and maybe an inhaler.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::sighs happily:: Well, I did it. My Writer's Block on this story has officially been cleared (or, at least, temporarily). ::bounces up and down, grinning:: I am also ridiculously proud of this one, in spite of the fact that it might be a bit of an emotional "gut-punch" as _**Sara Wolf **_puts it. This chapter is dedicated to her, as well as _**Lirenel**_ and _**Tonzura123**_; all three of them were instrumental in kicking my butt into gear, little did they know it. Enjoy, everyone!

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you all so much for your patience and your reviews; I truly hope you enjoy this next post!

_**Rating:**_ M (for very detailed and slightly graphic scenes)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(16)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 406 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback).

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Sixteen: The Determining of Fates_

* * *

"_Oh, bother, bother, bother," said Edmund to himself. "Need he be as gentlemanly as all that? I suppose he must. Comes of being a Knight __and__ a High King. I suppose it is what Aslan would like. But that brute will be up again in a minute and--"_

_But "that brute" never rose. The Lords Glozelle and Sopespian had their own plans ready. As soon as they saw their King down they leapt into the lists crying, "Treachery! Treachery! The Narnian traitor has stabbed him in the back while he lay helpless. To arms! To arms, Telmar!"_ (16)

* * *

The new bout went well, as Peter began to make real use of his skill and youth. He finally seemed to be listening to his head, and not just his heart.

Of course, Edmund would have been more relieved if the Telmarines had forgotten about Narnia's Just King, too. As it was, his relief was heady, despite (or maybe _in _spite) of the crossbows once again sighted on his heart.

He exchanged a grim glance with Caspian at his side; the prince had clearly seen his predicament and, shifting slightly, subtly raised his hand behind Edmund's back. The older teen's face was pale, but determined, and Edmund instinctively knew that his older sister's expression, where she stood with the archers on top of Aslan's How, mirrored it. Susan could be just as scary as Peter if she thought her siblings were in danger, and sometimes even more deadly. Without looking, Edmund knew her bow had already been notched with an arrow, and that the arrow's head was aimed at one of the two soldiers handling the crossbows. He also sensed Glenstorm, who had never once left his post, paw angrily at the ground as the Centaur took note of his youngest king's renewed danger.

In fact, the only one who did _not_ seem aware of Edmund's danger was Peter himself, and his younger brother intended to keep it that way. He did not want a repeat of the respite.

There was much jeering from the Telmarines as they watched Peter fight—catcalling and sneering. None except Glozelle seemed to understand that Peter knew _exactly_ what he was doing, although the grim expression on the man's face did nothing to alleviate the tension singing through every vein in Edmund's body. The soldiers with the crossbows looked absolutely terrified—of course, Edmund observed darkly, it did little to sway their attention from the task Miraz had set them. The crossbow bolts had hardly wavered from their intended trajectory.

The other Telmarine lord serving as marshal—Sopespian—looked manically _gleeful_…

Shivering violently, Edmund whispered, "What do you know of this…Sopespian, Caspian?"

The prince momentarily flicked his attention to said lord, took note of his expression, and shuddered, though whether in fear or disgust (it was probably both) Edmund did not know. "Very little. Only that he is incredibly ambitious. Doctor Cornelius would not let me stay in his presence for more than five minutes. He has never said so, but I think the Lord Sopespian helped my uncle gain the throne."

Edmund wondered, from the close association Glozelle seemed to have with Sopespian, whether the General had had a hand in it, as well. /To his eternal shame, no doubt, if he has,/ he thought quietly, glancing again at the Telmarine General. /He looks a little young, but…/

At that moment, such a savage cry rose from the Telmarine army that whatever else Edmund was thinking at that moment was not nearly so important as what was going on in front of him in the center of the stone ruins.

He barely managed to stifle his own (rather more horrified) cry as he turned just in time to see Miraz slam his circular shield into Peter's jaw. Staggering, slipping sideways, his older brother crashed to one knee, completely disoriented.

The Telmarines' shouts rose another decibel level: "Now! Now, Miraz!" they cried. "Kill! Kill!"

Edmund bit down viciously on his bottom lip, clenching his hands into fists until his fingernails dug into his palms and drew blood, face gray as he fought to keep down the waves of nausea.

Beside him, Caspian had turned pure white and Edmund wondered, vaguely, if this were the prince's first exposure to single combat.

The youngest king nearly fainted when all Miraz managed to land on Peter was a glancing blow. When the High King suddenly lurched forward, yanking on Miraz's arm and enabling himself to lunge to his feet, Caspian blew out a heavy breath, even as a resounding cheer rose from the Old Narnians behind them.

"You are far stronger than I," the prince murmured to him, faintly and thickly, "if you are able to stomach this," just as Peter whirled around an incoming block and grabbed Miraz's shield, wrenching it free as the usurper swung at him (both Rhindon and Miraz's sword had been lost somewhere halfway through the new bout, though Edmund could see both still glittering against the stone).

Edmund ran shaking hands over his face and through his hair, barking out a short, tremulous laugh. "Caspian, I am anything _but_ calm at the moment. I just know how to hide it better. Trust me, I fully intend to be violently ill once this finishes, if I don't faint first."

His older friend managed a pale shadow of a laugh, clutching his arms to his chest as they watched (with something resembling fascinated horror) this last leg of the combat unfold in front of them.

It was frightening…and fierce. Peter, at that moment, chose to dive forward, snatching a sword (indiscriminate of whose) off the ground. Rolling upright and spinning, he found his blade blocked by a long dagger. It would have done little good, except that Miraz had been training (and fighting) with that dagger for so many years that he wielded it as proficiently (and as _e_fficiently) as Peter wielded Rhindon.

Now it was Peter who had to dart left, duck right, and roll center. For several minutes, there was such a flashing of blades and defending of ground that one could hardly tell one combatant from another. Breaths on both sides were held and Edmund even _forgot_ to breathe…that is, until a great braying went up behind them from the Old Narnians.

Of course, by that point, he had nearly started hyperventilating and as he squeezed his eyes shut, several hot tears ran unheeded down his cheeks. Gasping quietly, he forced himself to find his breath's proper rhythm, thinking only, once he managed to do so, that he was absolutely going to _kill_ Peter the first chance he got.

When he finally cracked his eyes open, it was to find Peter and Miraz in much the same position as they had been before the respite. Incidentally, that was also what Miraz was calling for now: everyone, from the archers on Aslan's How, to Miraz's army in the meadow, could hear the heavy, rasping gasp of "Respite…Respite" from the usurper.

Edmund's eyes were only for Peter. His older brother was literally shaking where he stood over Miraz, fist pulled back and cocked, his blue eyes a wild blaze. In that moment of complete and utter indecision, Peter looked up—shaking still—and let his eyes fall on Edmund and Caspian, and beyond them, Susan and the Narnians.

Edmund wanted to yell at him. He knew his older brother well, and knew that, even after all the changes their traipse back through the wardrobe had wrought, and in spite of the stranger the older boy had been over this past year, his brother nonetheless had a very deeply ingrained sense of honor. Although he wanted yell about this being no sort of time for any type of chivalry, he found himself biting back the words that _wanted_ to come and instead settled for watching his brother's back when Peter finally lowered his arm.

He also wanted to cry. After all, the person Peter had been would not have remembered—or listened—to the voice that reminded him that he was Aslan's chosen High King, and as such, should conduct himself in a manner worthy of that title. _This_ Peter was more _his_ Peter than he had been in over a year, and it left Edmund shaking with relief—true, deep relief that he had not felt since they had come back through the wardrobe.

It was gone in the next moment (though not completely) when he saw Miraz fumble, flail, and then snatch his sword off the ground and lunge with it, as well as a pained roar, at Peter's unprotected back. As fear, panic, and utter _fury_ blasted through his mind, Edmund shouted, loud as he could and grabbing for his own sword, "_Peter! Look out!_"

Peter whirled, ducking under the sweep, and snatching back the sword, before whirling again, and slamming its tip straight up into the armpit of the hauberk.

Edmund very nearly _did_ faint, then. Certainly, he barely managed to stop short of an outright panic attack, but judging from the way he felt his legs trembling, it was near thing. Caspian, still beside him, was not quite so lucky, swaying momentarily in place before steadying himself (and Edmund, truth be told) with a fierce grip on the younger king's shoulder. "Your _brother_," the prince hissed lowly, "is absolutely a menace to the heart!"

Edmund snorted, desperately, and bit back the slightly hysterical urge he had to laugh. "Welcome to my world."

They were rather more preoccupied in the next moment, however, when Peter suddenly yanked the sword out of Miraz's arm.

Utter _pain_ contorted the usurper's face, before the man crashed to his knees, gasping, in front of Peter.

Peter held the sword up, angled so that, in one clean swipe, Miraz would be no more. But he hesitated, blue eyes alight with a wild fire, struggling against some invisible force only he could see.

Edmund held his breath.

At that moment, Miraz's ragged voice spoke up, "What's the matter, boy?" spat, then gasped. "Too cowardly to take a life?"

Even as Edmund snarled quietly, /How _dare_ he…!/, Peter's shoulders went rigid and he dropped the sword to his side.

"It is not mine to take," the furious hiss, quiet as it was, echoed as loudly in the clearing as if it were thunder. Then Peter turned…and thrust Miraz's sword hilt-first at Caspian—who jerked backwards in surprise when he understood the High King's intent.

Absolute silence stole over Narnians and Telmarines alike. Even Miraz looked stunned, and not so little afraid.

The prince's eyes locked onto his uncle's, something foreign and hard entering his face. Slowly, Caspian stepped out into the circle of ruined stone pillars. Slowly, he accepted his uncle's sword from Peter, who then chose that moment to turn away, leaning down and picking up Rhindon from where it had fallen, before exiting the lists.

It would have been indiscreet for the Narnians to cheer at such a time as this, even though Edmund knew some desperately wanted to. He himself only looked away from the tableau unfolding in front of them long enough to turn his face up to receive the kiss Peter dropped onto his cheek, before the two of them turned back to the scene taking place in the center of the ruins, his older brother leaning tiredly (and trying not to show it) into his side.

Caspian was shaking even worse than Peter had been as he slowly—so very slowly—lifted his uncle's sword in preparation to strike one of his only living family members dead.

Apparently, even Miraz possessed a miniscule whisp of honor, or at least of courage, although his words to Caspian did little to reinforce it, "Perhaps I was wrong," he whispered, gazing up impassively at his nephew, "perhaps you do have the makings of a Telmarine king, after all."

Then, he bowed his head.

The scream that tore loose from Caspian's throat gave voice to twelve years' bottled up anguish and loneliness, causing Edmund's heart to ache in sympathy. When Caspian jammed his uncle's sword sword-point first into a tuft of grass, Miraz wasn't the only one to stare up at the rightful Telmarine king in shock.

The Lords Glozelle and Sopespian—indeed, the entire Telmarine army—did so, as well.

Caspian's words were low and pained, but they rang out clearly in the clearing, "Not like you," he whispered, tears dripping down his cheeks as he released the hilt of the sword and stepped back, trembling, with his fists clenched at his sides. "Keep your life," he choked, glaring furiously at his uncle, "but I am giving the Narnians back their kingdom."

His voice rose as he said this, and he lifted his head to stare defiantly—and proudly—at the Lords across the lists. The tears came faster now, but Caspian did not care. This was no longer about gaining his rightful throne—he wasn't sure if it had ever been, really. This was about doing what was right, and ending the terror that the Narnians had had to live through for the past three-hundred years.

Edmund momentarily shut his eyes, turning his face into his brother's hair and breathing in Peter's scent softly, trying to ease the ache and the tightness in his chest that he felt for his friend. He and his brother had had their share of assassination attempts made on their lives. Fortunately, and thankfully, it was never one of _their _Narnians—that is to say, several Fell Creatures had tried over the years (more than several, actually), as had an ambitious Duke from Galma, a lord from Terabinthia, an impeached Governor from the Lone Islands, and several Tarkaans acting on (discreetly, of course) the Tisroc's orders. But never from their own people.

Edmund could not understand strength like that (for all Caspian claimed he was the strong one), that allowed the prince go against those who should rightfully have been his. He never wanted to. He rather thought his heart would break, if he had to.

"I think I'm ready to go home now, Ed," the whisper was Peter's, and completely startled his little brother, whose eyes flew open.

Edmund glanced down at his shoulder, noting with worry the golden head that rested there seemed entirely too heavy.

Peter's expression was unreadable as he gazed straight ahead at the center of the ruins, and oddly…peaceful? Unsure what to make of that expression, let alone his brother's remark, he followed Peter's gaze to find Caspian, face tear-streaked, but somehow proud, headed towards them. From behind them, echoing from crevice to crevice around the How, came the largest cheer yet from the Old Narnians. And this time, it was solely for Caspian.

As Peter shifted off of him, Edmund found himself on eye-level with the prince. He touched his friend's shoulder to find it still trembling, and at that touch, something in Caspian seemed to snap. As Glenstorm, sensing something ailed his young King, cantered forward to stand in front of the three boys, serving as a protective screen between they and the Telmarines, Caspian folded forward, leaning heavily against Edmund.

Startled, but quick to respond, Edmund wrapped his arms around the prince's shaking back. Desperately, Caspian tried to muffle his sobs against the leather that protected the younger king's neck, and it worked—for a little while. But as the prince proceeded to cry his heart out, for hurts that had been made new again, Peter stepped forward with a faint smile and touched his hand to the back of his head, gently resting it there.

Caspian's cries hit fever-pitch.

The only warning they had that something had gone horribly wrong was Susan's scream and Glenstorm's hissed, "Majesties, attend!" before everything descended into chaos.

* * *

_Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.—Romans 12:21_

* * *

_Tbc._


	17. The Fulfilling of Missions

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Well, we're almost there, folks! Roughly about five more chapters to go (more or less). I'm going to try and focus on only this story until I finish it (although you all know how well I succeed with that, sometimes ::makes a face::). I can't wait to string together the last several chapters—they're my favorites ::grins::! I sincerely hope you enjoy this post and hopefully you will see the next one soon!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _615_ of you, thank you! And thank you for being so patient—I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as you've enjoyed all my others!

_**Rating:**_ M (for slightly graphic scenes)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(17)** _Prince Caspian _pg. 406 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback).

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Seventeen: The Fulfilling of Missions_

_

* * *

_

_Peter hardly understood what was happening. He saw two big men running towards him with drawn swords. Then the third Telmarine had leapt over the ropes on his left._

"_To arms, Narnia! Treachery!" Peter shouted. If all three had set upon him at once he would never have spoken again. But Glozelle stopped to stab his own king dead where he lay: "That's for your insult this morning," he whispered as the blade went home. Peter swung to face Sopespian, slashed his legs from under him and, with a back-cut of the same stroke, walloped off his head. Edmund was now at his side crying, "Narnia, Narnia! The Lion!" _(17)

* * *

Edmund only had time to react. As Glenstorm pranced out of the way of two simultaneous crossbow bolts, Edmund grabbed Caspian and lunged, slamming his body into Peter's. The three kings dropped heavily to the ground in a tangle of limbs and a harsh clatter of armor just as two red-fletched arrows flew through the air in retaliation and cries of "Treachery!" rose around them.

One found its mark. The other slammed into a column and shattered just as the Telmarine soldier it was meant for ducked it, clutching a crossbow already loaded with another bolt.

Edmund's heart stopped as he realized, at that same instant, that anyone in his vicinity was as likely as he to be shot at. Struggling to free himself from where he had since been trapped under Peter's weight, he ignored his brother's sharp cry and shoved his shoulder into the fourteen-year-old's chest.

By the time Peter realized what he was doing, it was already too late for the older boy to react. With one final heave, he was off of Caspian and out from underneath the protection of Peter's body. Staggering to his feet, he dove sideways just as the bolt sliced through the side of his tabard and rolled upright, unsheathing his sword with a metallic ring and spinning to face the soldier.

He was greeted with two crossbow bolts fired one after the other in rapid succession. He dodged the first which collided with the stone column behind him and deflected the second—which, luckily, went careening straight back at its caster. The man died with a look of eternal shock on his face, a crossbow bolt in the stomach, and a red-fletched arrow in his throat.

Unfortunately, Edmund had been so focused on _not_ letting the crossbow bolts hit him that he had failed to notice he had been surrounded by three Telmarines, and at their center…"Shall I say it's been a pleasure, my Lord?" dangerously pleasant.

Sopespian.

Edmund grinned tightly at him, carefully backing up against the column as he took stock of his situation. "Oh, believe me, the pleasure's all mine."

The two other men were a great deal burlier than Sopespian. A great deal larger. Probably less skilled. And, Edmund hoped, a great deal less intelligent, too. He could dodge the one and possibly take out the other, but that would still leave him confronted with Sopespian.

Or he could dive at Sopespian and duck the two brutes, but there was no guarantee that they would take each other out, and the lord would be able to avoid him with far more speed and grace than his two henchmen.

He was about to take the second option when a sword's pommel suddenly slammed into Sopespian's shoulder, causing the older man to cry out and reel sideways.

Edmund stared in absolute shock as a grim-faced Glozelle appeared over the other Telmarine's shoulder and nodded to him, before immediately pursuing the clearly unnerved Sopespian. "My lord, will you kindly explain what you believe yourself to be _doing_?" came the other lord's demand.

Edmund was unable to hear Glozelle's response. A roar from the Telmarine soldier on the right reminded him that he was not quite out of danger, yet.

"_ED_!"

Narnia's youngest king lunged to the left just as two bodies slammed into the stone column behind him, only vaguely registering that one wore a scarlet tabard. Fumbling to regain his grip on his sword, he spun just in time to prevent the third Telmarine from decapitating him.

With a screech of steel on steel, Edmund blocked the overhand blow aimed at his neck, bringing his sword down to crack its pommel across the man's face.

With a bellow of rage, the soldier staggered back, dropping his sword and holding his freely bleeding (and hopefully broken) nose with both hands. Snagging the Telmarine's sword by its hilt, Edmund darted forward, crossing both swords and slashing them down at the man's neck.

As the soldier's body dropped, Edmund jumped another's sword as it slashed at his legs, spinning and blocking a follow-up blow with the two swords crossed over his head. Twisting his wrist, the soldier disconnected their blades and knocked one of Edmund's out of his hands with his hilt and fist. As soon as the sword hit the ground, the Telmarine kicked it and sent the weapon skidding across the floor to collide with a fallen stone column.

Setting his jaw, Edmund immediately adopted a defensive stance, bringing up the remaining sword to aim an uppercut at the Telmarine's neck. His weapon locked with the man's in a ringing clash of steel.

Gritting his teeth, the youngest king twisted his own wrist, disengaging their swords, and, borrowing Caspian's move, kicked out at the man's knee with his heel.

A strangled yell announced the soldier's kneecap shattering. Edmund instantly dropped into a crouch and swept the Telmarine's feet out from underneath him with a low kick. As the man hit the ground with a pained cry, Edmund drove his sword into the soldier's back, luckily avoiding the blade that sang through the air where, mere seconds ago, his head had been.

A resounding _clang_ echoed throughout the clearing (among many others) as metal met metal just above him.

"_Edmund_!"

Gulping in a breath of air, the younger man rolled out from underneath them, grabbing the hand held down to him by his older brother and hauling himself to his feet. "What kept you?" he gasped, swinging his sword around in an arc just as Peter ducked an undercut aimed at his neck. Blade crashed against blade as Edmund prevented the soldier from trying anything further.

"Met a few old friends," Peter gasped, spinning in his crouch and knocking the man to the ground with a sweep of his leg. The soldier found two blades driving into his stomach and his neck respectively.

Around them and above them the archery of Susan and the Dwarves went _twang_, _twang_ and _hiss, hiss_, hitting their every mark (and there were many of them). Out of the corner of his eye, Edmund caught sight of Caspian and Glozelle fighting back to back, the General battling fiercely to protect his rightful monarch. To the left of them he thought he saw Glenstorm locked in combat with a Telmarine on horseback. Most other horses were conspicuously absent and all other duels were taking place on foot.

"Where's Miraz?" Edmund gasped out, ducking a dagger that came sailing at his head and coming up to press his shoulders against Peter's.

"Dead," his brother retorted shortly.

"Pity," Edmund managed as he felt the muscles in Peter's back surge and heard two swords crash behind him, turning on heel and slamming his booted foot into the stomach of the Telmarine in front of him. "I would have loved to ask him a few questions."

"So would we all, I'd imagine," Peter rasped, ducking even as Edmund whirled and blocked an overhand swipe aimed at his brother's head. "_Ed_!"

Edmund dove and rolled just as a sword came whistling through the air a hair's breadth from his neck, switching places (and opponents) with his brother. "On three," Peter rapped out as Edmund struggled back to his feet, hearing the _clang_ of metal colliding with metal behind him. "One…"

The younger king blocked, even as his brother did.

"Two…"

The Telmarine in front of him snarled, and lunged forward.

"_Three_!"

Both brothers ducked at the same time, one dodging to the left, the other to the right. The two soldiers met in a clash of armor and steel.

They weren't even given the chance to recover. With two simultaneous yells, Narnia's two kings attacked. Edmund took out the man on the left, jamming his sword's pommel into the Telmarine's neck; Peter took out the man on the right, slashing his legs from underneath him and cleaving his head from his shoulders with a back-cut of the same stroke.

"Peter, _here_!"

His brother looked up and grabbed his hand as they found themselves confronted by one of the more muscular Telmarine men. Edmund used their momentum to swing his brother forward, gripping fast to Peter's hand as the older boy kicked out at the man's jaw. Armored boot met bone with a sickening crack, causing the soldier to go staggering back.

"Your turn," Peter gasped, as Edmund seized his hand as well as he could with both of his own while still managing to hold onto his sword.

The younger king felt himself being swung and, pivoting, slammed his heel into the man's chest. The soldier went flying backwards into another Telmarine behind him and both crashed to the ground.

The second one scrambled to his feet, snatching up his weapon as he did so. The first one remained out cold.

As soon as Peter released him, Edmund dropped into a crouch, moving to slash out at the second soldier's legs even as he sensed his brother do the same above him at the Telmarine's neck.

They never received the chance to complete the movement: the man in front of them threw down his sword and wailed, dropping to his knees. Around them, they heard the clatter of swords hitting stone as the Telmarines' cries rose around them, "The wood, the wood! The end of the world!"

Peter grinned tiredly, offering his brother a hand up. "Lucy," he murmured.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Lucy felt fairly calm—for being scared out of her wits, that is. She'd last seen Caspian when Aslan sent him after Susan who, at that point, apparently needed it. She had not seen a glimpse of him—or her sister—since.

Although it was neither as obvious, nor as fierce, as it was between their two brothers, Susan and Lucy, too, were closer than most sisters. They were often left to themselves when Peter and Edmund went off to battle, and remained each other greatest support and best comfort. Unlike Lucy, however, Susan hadn't often gone off to war.

Susan did not like fighting. She avoided it at all costs if she possibly could, content to leave the harsher and more dangerous aspects of their reign to their brothers. She had, however, always gone with Lucy during the aftermath. If Lucy had been fighting (even though Susan usually tried to prevent her from doing so), she immediately set out for the battle's location as soon as she received word from the couriers or scouts that it was through. In the rare instances Lucy needed her own cordial, Susan was always the one to give it to her: she usually left the little diamond bottle with her sister, especially during the latter years of their reign when Peter insisted they use it only in the most dire of circumstances.

When Lucy continued to carry it around regardless and Peter objected, it was Susan who calmly pointed out that the two boys tended to land themselves in "the most dire of circumstances," anyway, so it didn't really matter. It had taken both Edmund _and_ Lucy to placate Peter that time.

As a result, when Susan _did_ fight, Lucy was a mass of nerves. It was one thing for her brothers to fight—it was something else entirely for her sister to.

"Your sister will be fine, Dear One."

Lucy jerked, badly startled and nearly falling off Aslan's back. Leaves and white petals swirled around her, gently settling her back on the Lion.

"Thank you," she gasped, slightly breathless.

The Dryad's leaves swirled again, coalescing to form her face. "You are most welcome, my Queen. We have missed you."

Her response was echoed by various other calls around the clearing—some deep, some high, some sweet, some melancholy, as oaks, beeches, lindens, birches, and others swelled into life and their corporeal forms.

"Have they really been asleep for so long?" she whispered to Aslan, even as they kept up their steady trot through the woods and towards (Lucy thought) Beruna.

"When you and your siblings left, Child," Aslan advised her gently, "you brought some of the Deep Magic with you."

Lucy frowned slightly. "But, Aslan, surely…" She hesitated. Aslan swung his head up to stare over his shoulder at her invitingly. "Surely you _meant_ for us to leave. Just as, surely, you _meant_ for us to return."

A sad smile and sorrowful golden eyes were her answer. "I am subject to the Deep Magic just as you are, Dear One. Yes, perhaps I meant for you to 'leave,' as you put it. Your own world is sorely in need of the Magic you have found here, and you, as well as your siblings, are bearers _of_ that Magic. I had forgotten, however, that you brought your own particular "magic," as it were, with you when you first arrived here. The Trees, when you left, chose to sleep, for they knew you would return one day and would be in need of their assistance. But I tell a story that is not mine to tell. Perhaps one day your friends will be willing to do so."

Lucy blinked in shock. That was the clearest—and, at the same time, most enigmatic—she had ever heard him.

"You are growing, Child," his voice was warm as he leapt down a rock scramble. "You will find that, as you grow older, things will become less sure—and, at the same time, more certain—than they ever have been before. It is what your sister and brother have learned here, and it is what you and your other brother must learn by the time you are done."

"'Done,' Aslan?" she asked softly.

Aslan chuckled warmly. "That is for you to discover, Dear One. Just know that wherever you are, I will always be with you. You have only to seek me, and I will find you. Do not be afraid to look."

"I never have been, Aslan," she told him truthfully.

IOIOIOIOIOI

As they neared their destination, Lucy thought she could hear the sound of rushing water up ahead. She traded a curious look with the Dryad next to her and had just leaned down to ask Aslan if they had arrived at Beruna, when the Trees that had been surrounding them suddenly peeled off into at least two great chains and settled along the shores of what Lucy now realized was indeed the Great River at Beruna.

Her Dryad companion smiled at her. "The battle begins, my Queen."

Lucy barely managed to stifle her cry as bark and branches and leaves surrounded what had moments ago been a lovely young goddess.

"It is their armor, Dear One," Aslan soothed her. "Though they have been asleep for many years, they have still learned to adapt their ways to this changed world. She—and her companions—will answer my summons should we need them. Hold tight," she felt him crouch and tensed in anticipation, "we have an army to meet."

With a powerful thrust of his muscles, he leapt forward…and roared.

_

* * *

_

_For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall.—Isaiah 25:4_

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_

_Tbc._


	18. The Loosing of Chains

**WARNING:** Intense, messy, _emotional_ chapter ahead, folks. You might want to hold onto something (preferably that's soft, cuddly, and squishy, and can also double as a handkerchief).

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis.

_**Author's Note:**_ Um…::rubs head sheepishly:: consider this my peace offering. Not only is this mainly Lucy (with the exception of an Edmund and Caspian section in-between), but this may be my only post on this story for a while. I'm back at Grad School and this semester is going to be completely crazy. Until I can set aside more than one hour a night to work on this (and it may not even be that), the next chapter will not be coming for at least another several weeks. I may get lucky, of course ::fingers crossed::, but I don't usually like to rely on luck. Nonetheless, I truly hope you enjoy this. ::grins widely:: I really had fun writing it and, as you know, that might not necessarily be a good thing ::winks::.

_**Reviewers:**_ All _644_, thank you! And please enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ M (for intensity and slight graphicness)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased) (Siblingfic) (_NO_ Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(18)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 407 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback)

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Eighteen: The Loosing of Chains_

* * *

"_Come, children," said he. "Ride on my back again today."_

"_Oh, lovely!" cried Lucy, and both girls climbed on to the warm golden back as they had done no one knew how many years before. Then the whole party moved off—Aslan leading. Bacchus and his Maenads leaping, rushing, and turning somersaults, the beasts frisking round them, and Silenus and his donkey bringing up the rear._

_They turned a little to the right, raced down a steep hill, and found the long Bridge of Beruna in front of them. Before they had begun to cross it, however, up out of the water came a great wet, bearded head, larger than a man's, crowned with rushes. It looked at Aslan and out of its mouth a deep voice came._

"_Hail, Lord," it said. "Loose my chains."_ (18)

* * *

They emerged out of the woods at the Bridge of Beruna and into utter chaos. Or, at least, it looked like utter chaos to Lucy, despite the fact that she was very familiar with the landscape of battle. Her sister, her brothers, and Caspian had established an almost rout of Miraz's forces.

Miraz's forces, however, refused to comply. In and out and around her siblings and Caspian, Telmarines were maintaining pockets of resistance. Even as one group of soldiers threw down their weapons and fell, wailing, to their knees, others picked those weapons up again and attacked one of the four fighting in a circle (surrounded by as many Narnians) on the Great River's banks. Each seemed to be determined to win a boon from Miraz, or one of the lords acting as commanders (even if some of those lords were among the men surrendering).

Lucy rather thought, though, that they should not have even bothered. Miraz was dead. She knew her brothers, and she knew that such a threat to Narnia as Miraz posed did not long survive her brothers' blades. Edmund or Peter would surely have done away with him.

"Hurry, Dear One!" Aslan's roar came from below her. "Your siblings and the prince will need you ere long! Off my back—quickly! Bring the Dryads and the Hamadryads with you!"

Lucy did not waste time objecting. Tumbling off his back, she rolled to her feet and unsheathed her dagger with a cry, "_For Narnia_!"

Her cry was taken up by the Trees, who swirled back into their corporeal forms and rushed across the Bridge (and the river) at her back and on her sides with all the righteous roar of an ocean.

There were screams. Men who had doggedly persisted to fight loosed loud, long, absolutely _horrified_ wails.

As Lucy and the Awakened Trees plowed into the ranks of the Telmarines, the youngest Queen ducked and darted as she wove her way through the individual battles taking place on all sides of her. Any number of Dryads surrounded her at any given time, two or three breaking off here or there when they spotted a Narnian in trouble.

Lucy herself was not idle. Her dagger slashed left and right, whirled down and up, as she cut a path through the men in front of her in order to reach her siblings and Caspian. She did not throw it: with only one weapon and potentially a dozen enemies around her she was not willing to risk it.

A Dryad who had been with her from the initial charge suddenly rose up around her, "My Queen," she called down, "your royal sister is ahead!"

Lucy began running. Seconds later she found her sister.

She also found four Telmarine men _surrounding_ her sister.

The soldiers never knew what hit them. As Lucy slammed her dagger into the back of the one directly in front of her, three Dryads peeled off from behind her and came at the other three from either side, partially transforming their hands into branches whose tips were as sharp as spears.

Two seconds later, no soldiers remained.

When Susan spotted her, and the entourage with her, she cried out in relief. What her older sister did _not_ see, however, was the Telmarine creeping up behind her.

All the warning she had to duck was Lucy's horrified cry, "_SUSAN_!"

As Susan ducked, arrow in hand and already whirling to face her assailant, Lucy's dagger flew through the air mere centimeters from her cheek.

The soldier died on the spot when Lucy's dagger embedded itself in his throat and Susan's arrow point slashed across his jugular vein.

Susan did not even see him fall. As soon as she registered that he was gone, she dropped the arrow with a cry and immediately stumbled forward to tightly grasp Lucy's hands.

The younger girl instantly found herself subject to a tearful, affectionate onslaught as her older sister clumsily (and gratefully) showered her face with kisses.

Before either girl had a chance to speak, however, from the opposite bank of the Great River there came an all-resounding roar...and a scream—Peter's scream—over the sudden crashing of waves against the shore: "_Edmund_!"

IOIOIOIOIOI

Edmund had been fighting at the very edge of the river. At one point he had, apparently, been separated from Peter (the first item on Oreius' 'Never, EVER to Do List,' as Lucy had termed it).

Caspian had been fighting only about three yards from where the two brothers were—struggling to get back to his friends—when he heard the High King's stricken cry.

He turned only just in time to see Lord Sopespian, whom all three kings had engaged with in battle at one point and lost sight of just as easily the next, abruptly tackle the slighter, smaller young man into the river.

All he had gotten out of a nearly hysterical Peter was that the Telmarine lord had apparently been creeping up on the High King from behind—rather like Susan's assailant—and had been thwarted at the last minute by Edmund barreling into his brother.

Lucy and Susan had arrived just in time to prevent Peter from throwing himself into the twice-swollen river as Aslan called forth the river-god.

"Aslan, _don't_!" Lucy shrieked, loud as she could, as she and Susan grabbed Peter's arms and struggled to hold him back. "_Edmund's_ in there!"

But it was already too late. A great, massive body and a great, massive head made up solely of river water swirled elegantly to his full height. Even as the clattering of weapons raining down on the pebbled shore reached them, and even as large, burly Telmarines lay prostrate and quaking at their feet, the river-god grabbed up the Bridge of Beruna on either end and snapped it as easily as if it were twigs. It was a little alarming, even to the Narnians.

In horror-stricken awe, their monarchs could only wonder how anyone stuck in the after-wash of that bridge collapsing could survive it.

From behind the three siblings, Caspian loosed a high, piercing whistle.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It was really quite a spectacular rescue. Of course, Edmund was a bit too busy trying to keep afloat to really think about it.

Grimacing, he reached out, blindly scrabbling for something—_anything_—to halt his head-ward hurtle. He thought he heard Peter screaming for him, but in the end decided that the foaming, frothing mass churning around him was a little more urgent than contemplating the fact that his big brother was likely giving himself massive heart failure at the moment.

Wave after wave of river water swamped him. After several minutes of spinning and sputtering and swallowing too much of the vile stuff (it wasn't, really, but when you are trying not to drown, things take on rather a different perspective), Edmund finally realized he should probably keep his mouth shut if he planned on surviving the next few minutes.

He had lost sight of Sopespian (and found it rather ironic that it was likely the man's "own" river that had done him in), but was in no particular hurry to find him again (or his body, as the case may be).

He did worry a little what this would do to his brother if (and when) they found his own body—his sisters, too, for that matter. He held no illusions about what waited him at the end of this rather rough and tumble ride: what had already been an old river in their time had likely carved any number of cataracts and gorges since then, before finally spilling into the sea, and the current kept him from reaching the shore.

It would be a fatal ride, and Edmund made peace with that fact the moment he realized it.

He just hoped he would be able to explain to Peter that he felt every bit of this had been worth it, to have prevented his brother from meeting a similar fate. That is, _if_ he saw Peter again.

/Aslan, please, just help them when they realize I'm gone. Especially Peter. He won't understand./

In response, there was a sudden growl: _Do you give up so easily, Child? Truly I tell you, those who put their trust in me shall never be forsaken_.

It could have just been his imagination, a memory of a dearly beloved voice come to comfort (or chastise) him in his final moment of life. But Edmund knew it wasn't.

And that became doubly clear in the next moment when something long, solid, and quite big slammed into his shoulder, forcing a surprised cry out of his throat (and a mouthful of water in).

Choking and sputtering, he resurfaced moments later and hung on to what, after closer inspection, revealed itself to be a piece of driftwood from what (he further realized) was probably the demolished bridge at Beruna.

Over the water's loud and angry roar, Edmund could just make out a clatter of hooves against rock and a familiar voice's cry, "Edmund, _the river_!"

IOIOIOIOIOI

Caspian could readily say this had been the most terrifying day of his life. In twenty-four hours the things that had happened to him (and to his friends) were things that _weren't_ supposed to happen to anyone under the age of sixteen.

Caspian was quickly realizing, however, that what you _expected_ to happen rarely ever did.

Certainly, he had never expected to rescue (or attempt to rescue, at any rate) three Golden Monarchs in one day (actually, make that four). And that, too, only hours after meeting a lion—_the _Lion.

He was rather of Edmund's opinion: the moment all this was over with and he could safely get away, he fully intended to be violently ill.

Of course, he had to _reach _Edmund first.

The river was fast: its pace swift and its waters clogged with all manner of debris from the absolutely decimated Bridge of Beruna. They were rapidly nearing the point where its course was abruptly altered into a fifteen-foot cascade.

And the pool at the bottom was full of jagged rocks. If he were not smashed on the rocks below, then Edmund would almost certainly be forced into the boulders at the top of the falls, and there be pummeled by the splintering, rather _large_ logs.

The boulders had been worn smooth as the river carved through bedrock and limestone. There was little chance that Edmund would be able to grab one, and hold onto it, while simultaneously fighting the current and avoiding the debris at the same time. That is, unless he had some sort of rope to pull himself out, and as the only rope was presently coiled on Caspian's saddle horn and not available for Edmund's use—

But almost as soon as he finished that thought, Caspian had another. _He_ could use the rope. Certainly, it was, at best, crazy, and at worst, ineffectual, but—

He did not spare it another thought. Immediately, he released his horse's mane. Beneath him, even as he started rapidly uncoiling the rope from its location on the saddle, he felt the steed's powerful muscles bunch.

"Good boy," he murmured under his breath, quickly circling the length of rope around his waist and tightly knotting it, "you know exactly what I'm going to do, don't you?"

Because this wasn't just any horse—this was _Caspian's_ horse, the one he had raised from a foal. And he knew his master's mind just as well as he knew where the best oats in the barn were.

IOIOIOIOIOI

As soon as he heard (and recognized) Caspian's cry, Edmund, for the first time, noticed exactly _where_ his headlong, hurtling path was taking him.

Not ten yards in front of him, the Great River plunged over…oh, joy. A waterfall.

As he began picking out some choice words to curse with, Edmund also noticed that, although the river's current still barreled along as powerfully and as swiftly as it had before, it was narrower here.

And on the bank closest to him, Caspian thundered along on the back of a magnificent black steed.

It took Edmund about two seconds to realize what the prince was intending to do. Before he could even call him out on it (which he intended to do—_soundly_—later on), the horse's hooves clattered onto the first boulder ahead of him.

The waterfall was seven yards away.

Caspian crouched low to his steed's back as the noble beast leapt—slid—and then clattered onto the next boulder.

The waterfall was five yards away.

Edmund choked back another cry as the current suddenly tugged him under. Fortunately, he had enough presence of mind to shut his mouth.

When he came up again, he was gasping and sputtering. A heart-stopping moment later, he realized his fingers were numb and that they were slipping. Off the piece of driftwood.

The waterfall was three yards away.

Caspian had reached the final boulder. As soon as Destrier's hooves clattered onto the rock, he loosed a cry and tossed the rope as hard—and as far—as he possibly could, "Edmund, _the rope_! Grab _the_ _rope_!"

Edmund did, crying out as it dug into his palms and jammed him into the boulder where Caspian and his horse waited.

The waterfall had been barely one yard away.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Peter had fainted when he saw Edmund was safe (as difficult as that was at this distance). Between themselves, Lucy and Susan (along with a discreet, helping hand from Glenstorm) had managed to bring Narnia's High King across the once-more Ford of Beruna to Aslan.

Lucy had revived him only to be forced, in the next minute, to grab him again as he tried to hurl himself forward in order to reach Edmund and Caspian who had, by now, returned to the opposite bank.

"Aslan help me, Peter, if you try to go after Ed, I _will_ sedate you!" Lucy threatened, as she and Susan struggled to hold back their older brother from flinging himself into the river.

"Do you even _have_ a sedative with you?" Susan whispered to her—which Peter, thankfully, did not hear.

Lucy ignored her for the time being. "I mean it, Peter! You're in no shape to perform any sort of heroics!"

"_Lu_!" Peter protested vehemently, but nonetheless stopped struggling quite so hard.

"_There_!" Lucy panted, relinquishing her grip on his arm only slightly. "Will you behave or shall I force the sedative down your throat?"

Fortunately (for Peter, anyway), she never received the chance to follow through on her threat (which she undoubtedly would have, otherwise): with a clatter of hooves and a gasping of breath, Caspian and Edmund arrived at Aslan's side and the prince brought them to a halt.

When Peter cried out and strained against their hold, Lucy and Susan exchanged two frightfully worried glances before releasing him.

"_Edmund_!"

A second thick cry and several splashes as Peter slipped and stumbled his way up the bank in his rush to get to Edmund.

"_ED_!"

Lucy bit her lip worriedly as she watched him go. The younger girl suspected—although she did not tell Susan this—that it had all become a little too much for Peter. He had been pushing himself to the very edge of his endurance ever since they had arrived here, feeling in his heart an ache and an anguish that his three younger siblings could hardly imagine.

Now that she had ample time to reflect on it, Lucy realized that he had probably been contending with it ever since they had first stumbled out of the wardrobe—or, at the very least, since returning to London from the countryside. It would explain so much, and she found herself wondering if Edmund knew it, too, or if he, like Lucy, had only now realized it.

When their younger brother slid off Destrier's back, Peter immediately seized Edmund in his arms, squeezing him in a hug so tight that Lucy worried for his undoubtedly bruised ribs. Beside her, she heard Susan's strangled laugh as Peter proceeded to shower their brother's cheeks and forehead with several fierce kisses as he sought to somehow convey how terribly frightened he had been.

Above them, Caspian nearly collapsed in his saddle as he followed Lucy's gaze, "Oh, thank heavens," he whispered—and began to dismount.

His feet had barely touched the ground when Susan whirled around with a muffled cry and threw her arms around his neck, pattering the prince's face with grateful kisses.

Caspian went absolutely pure red and awkwardly patted her back, all the while looking over her head beseechingly at Lucy.

The younger girl merely gave a tear-choked laugh…and joined in.

In the background, over the subsiding crash of the river against the shore, they heard Peter exclaim hoarsely, "By Aslan, nearly giving your older brother a heart attack is _not_ on the 'to do' list!"

_

* * *

_

_Because of his strength I will watch for you, for God is my stronghold.—Psalm 59:9_

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* * *

_

_Tbc._


	19. The Settling of Ground

**WARNING:** Emotional messiness abounds, so be prepared! (Er, and slight bloodshed, too.)

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Apologies in advance. I am not a medical student, and therefore do not know if any such information in my story below is entirely accurate. I've tried researching it, but I didn't know exactly what to enter into the search engine and the words that were used in those articles I did find made my head spin. So apologies once again.

::sheepishly:: Also, apologies for the shortness of this chapter. I've wracked my brain, taken out and put in so many different paragraphs that when I finally _did_ find a structure I liked, this chapter turned out to be a great deal shorter than I had first intended. ::grins:: No worries, however. I think you may like what I did with the next chapter (I know I certainly do! ::winks::).

_**Reviewers:**_ All _672_ of you, thank you! Please enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for mildly graphic scenes)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased) (Siblingfic) (_NO_ Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(1)** _Help_! I could almost swear that I did not come up with this quote on my own, and it's driving me crazy trying to figure out where it's from! I thought at first maybe the Bible, but all the searches I ran came up only with _similar_ quotes, and even then, they're not really like this one. So if you know, please shoot me a PM or a review so I can give credit where credit's due!

**(19)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 410 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback).

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Nineteen: The Settling of Ground_

_

* * *

_

_And so at last, with leaping and dancing and singing, with music and laughter and roaring and barking and neighing, they all came to the place where Miraz's army stood flinging down their swords and holding up their hands, and Peter's army, still holding their weapons and breathing hard, stood round them with stern and glad faces. _(19)

* * *

(An Hour Later)

Edmund, much to Peter's consternation, had refused to change out of his drenched clothing after his encounter with the Great River. When asked why, he had pointed out that, logically, there was no point, as he fully intended to help out with the clean-up efforts taking place.

He did promise Peter, however, that he would change out of his water-logged armor and had done so almost as soon as they arrived back at Aslan's How.

In fact, most of their armor had been discarded for the lighter leather sets they had brought with them from Cair Paravel's Treasure Room. Hence how Edmund found himself in the situation he was now.

"Honestly, Peter, only _you_ could go through all of that and nearly end up killing yourself when you stop to help a wounded soldier _after the battle is already over_. Hold still!"

Edmund's exasperated exclamation echoed throughout the clearing in front of the How, drawing startled half-smiles from those who were close enough to hear it as they tended to the wounded and the dead. Including a highly amused younger sister who was supposedly supervising Edmund's first attempt at field healing in over a year, but was really only sitting on the wall to giggle her heart out at her hapless younger brother who had forgotten just how much of a headache it was to get Peter to merely_ stay put_ whenever someone was trying to heal him.

"But it _hurts_, Edmund!" Peter's objection was loud—and not entirely unwarranted.

"Of _course_ it bloody hurts, Peter!" Edmund exclaimed in aggravation, fighting to keep him in place on the rock without jostling his injury. "You have a bloody _crossbow bolt_ through your hand! If you continue to struggle you'll only pass out!"

Lucy stopped giggling when she noticed Edmund's voice was high and tight, and that the hand he _wasn't_ using to grasp Peter's wrist had risen up to swipe impatiently at his cheeks. She knew it wasn't sweat.

Rapidly, she blinked back the stinging in her own eyes. Peter was not the only one who had reached his limit, and for Edmund, that was manifesting itself fantastically now.

Quietly, she slipped off the wall and knelt next to him on the ground, gently grasping the wrist and fingers he had carefully spread there (and trying very hard to ignore the blood that slicked them). "I'll hold," she told him softly, "you push. Then we'll get him to take the cordial."

Edmund just nodded jerkily, before ever so cautiously and ever so tenderly gripping the end of the iron bolt.

Peter gasped and went still, the color of his face rapidly cycling to white.

Edmund paused, glancing up at him worriedly. "Do you need some more wine or numbing herbs? Maybe it would be better if we did this when you're knocked out, Pete."

Peter gritted his teeth and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut as a trickle of sweat slid down the side of his face. "Just hurry up and get it over with," he forced out through his teeth.

Lucy nudged Edmund with her shoulder when it looked like her youngest brother might object. "Save it for the cordial, Ed," she advised him softly, firming her grip on their big brother's arm.

Edmund shut his mouth and nodded, and without any further warning…pushed.

Peter's scream would have raised the birds from their roosts in the eaves of Aslan's How had it not been half-choked off in the middle when Peter leaned over the side of his makeshift seat to throw up.

As Edmund grabbed Peter's hand and crushed it between his own to stem the sudden flow of blood, Lucy thrust the uncapped vial of cordial Edmund had already wrested from their brother into the older boy's free hand. "Peter, drink this."

Peter's face was gray. Cold sweat had broken out on his face. And Lucy, although she had half-expected it, nearly burst into tears when he looked into her eyes…and gave a single, decisive shake of his head.

"_Peter_!" she cried, all her fear, anxiety, and worry spilling out into that one painful word.

Edmund jerked his head up at her cry, glancing rapidly between the two of them in alarm.

It took him less than a second to figure out what was going on. Leveling their martyr of an older brother with a smoldering glare, he practically hissed, "So help me, Peter, if you refuse to drink that cordial, I _will_ shove it down your throat!"

Peter did not waste time trying to argue (which, potentially, would be more detrimental to his health than the wound itself), he just drank.

After he had handed the empty vial back to Lucy, the older boy muttered, somewhat abashed, "What is it with you and Lu wanting to force things down my throat?"

"Because if it were left up to you, you would have been half-dead already, you bloody blockhead!" Edmund's cry was all pain and a little anger.

Peter immediately flushed, realizing a second too late that he probably should not have revealed that small tidbit of information to his brother who was almost as overprotective as he was on a _good_ day.

Today could not be counted as such.

From his feet, there came a cough and a watery, "…You idiot."

When Peter glanced down at Edmund, he found his younger brother rubbing off tears from his cheeks with the sleeve of the tunic he had loosed from his armguard.

At that moment, Peter realized that for all Edmund was really twenty-six, he looked (and sounded) every bit like the eleven-year-old he was now.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Lucy was called away by Susan a few minutes later to tend to several near-casualties their older sister and Caspian had found. Gently, she touched Edmund's arm, who was still in the process of trying to get rid of the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Here, Ed," she advised him softly, pressing a water skin and wet cloth firmly into his free hand. "Make sure he has some of this. And make sure _you_ drink some of it, too."

"I'll just throw it up, Lu," Edmund croaked, but accepted both items nonetheless.

Lucy shook her head. "Just try, please," she whispered. "For me."

Perhaps it was not entirely fair to ask that of her obviously shaken younger brother, but she knew Peter would take care of him. Even if their elder brother never took care of himself.

Edmund, too emotionally wrung out to really argue, just nodded.

Tenderly stroking back a piece of dark, sweat-and-blood-matted hair from his eyes, Lucy stood to her feet and turned to her other brother, "Be gentle with him, Peter," she scolded quietly (even if she knew she did not have to).

Though, indeed, it seemed as if Peter were already aware of that, for he merely nodded absently at her, half his attention already focused on Edmund.

When her youngest brother did not immediately protest her statement, Lucy knew the repercussions of their battle—and Peter's duel—had finally started to set in. Peter's accidental injury had merely been the catalyst.

As Lucy turned away and headed towards Susan, her own tears began their inevitable fall.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The moment Lucy was gone, Peter's fingers slid gently along Edmund's palm, interweaving with his brother's and tenderly grasping the younger boy's unoccupied hand. "If I weren't afraid you'd kill me," he murmured, lightly fingering an ebony strand of hair, "I'd have had you in my lap by now."

In response, there was a wet snort. "Trust me, Pete," Edmund muttered, as he leaned his forehead against Peter's knee, still clinging to his older brother's hand, "had I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it bloody six months ago."

"But you didn't," Peter commented softly, tenderly stroking his fingers through his little brother's dark hair, never minding the sweat and blood and river-water that clumped it. A few moments later he added quietly, "And I've yet to understand why."

There was another wet snort as Edmund turned his face against his brother's leg and tears continued streaming silently down his cheeks. "You're bloody daft if you can't see the answer right in front of you."

"I think we've established I've been 'bloody daft,' for a while now, Ed," Peter murmured, gently combing out the tangles that lay strewn across his lap.

Edmund sighed heavily, releasing the water skin and cloth Lucy had given him to grip tightly to his older brother's legging. "Pete, you've been a bloody stranger to me this past year. By all rights I should be absolutely furious with you. But I'm not," for the first time since he had begun speaking, Edmund's voice cracked, "I'm not. Because it's enough—_more_ than enough—to have you alive. And still be able to love you."

Whatever Peter had been expecting his little brother's answer to be, it was not that.

His breathing hitched as he rested his head on Edmund's. "'And yet to have all these things,'" he murmured the well-remembered quote into his baby brother's hair, "'is to be counted more blessed than the richest of kings.'" (1)

A clearly startled Edmund jerked upright, nearly colliding with his brother's nose. "Peter, what—?" he began to ask. Two wet trails glistened in the late afternoon sunlight.

Peter smiled sadly, opening his mouth to explain as he rubbed them away.

He never received the chance.

From a short distance ahead and to the right of them, there came a sudden shout: "Peter! Edmund! _Hurry_!" Caspian's voice cried.

More than a little alarmed, the two kings exchanged worried glances, before shooting to their feet and beginning to run.

IOIOIOIOIOI

They found Caspian, as well as Susan and Lucy, kneeling on the ground around a pale, unmoving figure. Even with a bruised face and a bloodied brow, Edmund recognized the man as Glozelle.

In an instant he was on his knees beside the Telmarine General and across from Lucy. "Lu, your diagnosis?" he demanded, grabbing the man's clammy hand.

Lucy was still checking him over. "Concussion. Crushed ribs. At least half a dozen different lacerations," her eyes, when she raised her head to look at her younger brother, had tears in them, "Ed…I'm not sure he's going to make it. At least, not without the cordial and even then…"

At that moment, the older man released a deep, rasping cough and a thin stream of blood trickled out from one corner of his mouth. His entire body—even his chest, which until that point had been moving erratically as he struggled for breath—went still.

Lucy's eyes widened and Susan pulled her into her arms, murmuring how sorry she was into their little sister's hair. Edmund himself was too stunned to even register Peter's arm as it curled protectively around his waist.

And as Caspian dropped his face into his hands, a slight breeze began to blow.

* * *

_Moreover, I will give you what you have not asked for—both riches and honor—so that in your lifetime you will have no equal among kings.—1 Kings 3:13_

* * *

_Tbc._

* * *


	20. The Setting of Suns

**WARNING:** Angst and emotions galore, folks! For this, as well as the chapters that follow it.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Er, did I say you'd like this next chapter? You might…but I'm holing myself up behind barricades when you reach the end ::winks::. In any case, only two (possibly three) more chapters to go after this, folks, and then it's finished! Thank you all so much for sticking with me over the past year!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _701_ of you, many thanks! I hope you enjoy this next (rather long) chapter!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for intensity and emotional messiness)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased) (Siblingfic) (_NO_ Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Book Excerpts/Quotes (Italics)**_

**(20)** _Prince Caspian _pg. 411 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Paperback).

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Twenty: The Setting of Suns_

* * *

…_All the Talking Beasts surged round the Lion, with purrs and grunts and squeaks and whinnies of delight, fawning on him with their tails, rubbing against him, touching him reverently with their noses and going to and fro under his body and between his legs. If you have ever seen a little cat loving a big dog whom it knows and trusts, you will have a pretty good picture of their behavior. Then Peter, leading Caspian, forced his way through the crowd of animals._

"_This is Caspian, Sir," he said. And Caspian knelt and kissed the Lion's paw._

"_Welcome, Prince," said Aslan. "Do you feel yourself sufficient to take up the kingship of Narnia?"_

"_I-I don't think I do, Sir," said Caspian. "I'm only a kid."_

"_Good," said Aslan. If you had felt yourself sufficient it would have been proof that you were not. Therefore, under us and under the High King, you shall be King of Narnia…You and your heirs while your race lasts…"_ (20)

* * *

"Why such faces, Dear Ones?"

Lucy yelped and spun to face Aslan who—as was his wont—had suddenly appeared beside her. Once her heart stopped pounding, she murmured unsteadily, "Oh, Aslan…"

Susan hushed her as she began shaking in her older sister's hold, pressing several kisses to her auburn hair.

Aslan leaned down and gently nudged the Telmarine's still body with his nose, before swinging his great head up to look at Lucy who was now quietly sniffling into the bodice of Susan's dress. "You have not used your cordial, Daughter."

Lucy's sniffles abruptly stopped. "Wha-what? But, Aslan--" she lifted her head to look at him, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

He merely smiled enigmatically at her…and breathed on the older man's graying face. "Arise, my Child," the Lion murmured to the man who—for all intents and purposes—should have been far past the outer edge of the world and beyond any mortal hearing. "Be born again new."

As Glozelle's chest heaved and he gave a sputtering gasp, starting to cough violently, Lucy's eyes widened impossibly and she dove into the folds of her robes, hunting up her diamond-encased cordial.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caspian and Edmund grab the man from either side as he attempted to sit up—still coughing violently—and steady him as she finally wrested her cordial free.

With shaking hands, Lucy administered the ruby-red liquid, murmuring softly as the Telmarine General struggled to hold still long enough to swallow it. She did not know if Glozelle—she thought his name was Glozelle—recognized her, or realized that the hand which held out the little diamond flask meant him no harm. She thought it quite likely that he did not, and quietly admired the staunch (if slightly reckless) courage he displayed.

When his coughs and gasps for air all but vanished, Lucy decided to never again doubt Narnia's penchant to allow the impossible to _become_ possible—or at least Aslan's.

Apparently, Caspian seemed to have decided the same, for the prince gave a strangled laugh as Glozelle lifted his head. The General tensed when he heard it, staring at the young man worriedly and trying to hastily to drop into something vaguely resembling a bow. "Your Majesty--" he began, but found himself unable to say anything further as, with a muffled cry, Caspian flew at him.

The startled General found himself with his young king's arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

As Lucy grinned tearily at the scene unfolding in front of her, Aslan leaned close and nuzzled her cheek with a growling purr (if ever a lion _could _purr). "All is well, Dear One," he murmured.

IOIOIOIOIOI

With Aslan's declaration to their little sister ringing in his ears, Edmund leaned back heavily into Peter as any last tension fled from his veins.

Wearily, he dropped his head into his hands and gave a groan. "Oh, thank heavens," he murmured, exhaustion long held at bay by adrenaline immediately seeping into his bones now that there was space to fill.

He felt Peter's hand cup the back of his neck, gently starting to rub it, and groaned again as he buried his face in his brother's side. He ignored the older boy's soft laughter in favor of resting his chin on a leather-clad shoulder and staring out across it at the reddening green sprawling around them.

For the first time since returning to Narnia, Edmund was able to look out over their beloved country and see it with Peter's eyes.

IOIOIOIOIOI

There was celebrating that night along the banks of the Great River, long after Tarva and Alambil—their dance a success—and the many stars that accompanied them had come out. It was only when the Moon reached her apex, at an hour of deepest night, that the revelers finally dropped off one by one.

Edmund was one of the last to leave the warm orange glow cast by the bonfire, he and Susan having shooed off Lucy and Peter to sleep an hour beforehand. Susan had followed a mere half-hour later, but Edmund had one last thing to do before he joined them.

He found Caspian sitting on a boulder next to the Great River, gazing up at the sky as the stars and the Moon and the planets wheeled in their continuous dance above his head, watching it with simple awe. The prince did not indicate that he was aware of Edmund's presence, and Narnia's Just king gently clipped him upside the head as he joined him.

"You were reckless today," he scolded quietly, slipping onto the boulder beside his older friend.

Caspian smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head where Edmund had lightly cuffed him, before once more encircling his knees with his arms. "I know," he responded softly, "but it was the only way and I do not regret it."

Edmund snorted faintly. "Of course you don't," he grumbled. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face, muttering, "You're almost as bloody bad as Peter."

Caspian laughed quietly. "I will take that as a compliment. Though I doubt anyone could be as…er…'bad' as your brother." He looked thoughtful a second, "Well, maybe Queen Susan."

Edmund grinned wryly, raising his head to gaze at the prince. "That, my friend, is only with you. She protects you like a tigeress does her cubs—or perhaps I should say, a lioness."

When Caspian blushed, the younger king shook his head, lips curling with amusement. But it was true. Susan's tendency to mother anyone and any creature she came in contact with (and decided she liked) had reached all-new levels when it came to Caspian. Perhaps she sensed the prince had not had enough of it in his life. Whatever the reason, it seemed to be doing wonders for their friend (even if he usually ended up pure red because of it).

Edmund sighed again, softly. There was a worry, though. Another among the several that still plagued him: Caspian had become so used to their presence…and he was not sure how much longer they had here. If they left—

"Edmund?"

The younger king jerked slightly, startled. "Yes?" he asked, blinking at Caspian in the moonlight.

Edmund's worry shot up several notches when he took in the prince's suddenly hunched posture. "Caspian?" he questioned, alarm in his voice, reaching out to touch his friend's shoulder.

The prince shook his head. "I am scared," he confessed softly, forcing Edmund to strain in order to hear it. "I do not think I am ready to be king."

The younger teenager smiled amusedly, if understandingly. "That is only natural, Caspian. Trust me."

Caspian raised his face to look at Edmund. "Were you ready?" he asked it softly.

Edmund shook his head, giving a tiny half-smirk. "No. I don't think any of us were."

"Were you frightened?"

The slighter king laughed quietly. "Absolutely terrified."

"How…how did you deal with it? The fear? The uncertainty?"

A small, slightly embarrassed smirk quirked the younger monarch's lips. "I didn't. I fainted," he replied, in as even a voice and with as straight a face as he could manage.

Caspian nearly fell off the boulder in shock at that response. "Wha-what?" he sputtered. "Edmund, you mean to tell me that--"

"Unfortunately," his friend muttered, cheeks turning faintly pink, "I did not have quite as strong a constitution as I thought I did. I think I gave Peter a heart attack when I collapsed." He shot the prince a sheepish smile. "So avoid fainting in front of overprotective big brothers and you'll do very well."

Caspian looked torn between laughing and being appropriately horrified.

Edmund merely grinned (if a bit deviously) and hopped to his feet, holding down his hand to help the prince up. "Come and sleep," he requested simply, when Caspian merely sat there, staring up at him in confusion.

Comprehension touched Caspian's features and cleared them, bringing a warm (if rather shy) smile to the prince's lips as he took the offered hand.

Neither boy noticed the large, silver-bathed figure surveying them with a satisfied smile where He lounged on the pebbled shore in the moonlight.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The next morning found Caspian standing on the bank of the Great River in the graying pre-dawn light, quietly gazing out across it to the mountains and the forest that had been his refuge and his home (or as much of a home as they could be) for the past several months.

"They'll still be there after you are crowned," Lucy's soft voice spoke up from behind him and Caspian smothered a startled yelp, spinning around to face her.

The youngest Queen grinned widely, covering a small giggle with her hand. "Sorry, Caspian."

The prince merely shook his head. "It is fine, Lucy. I am just nervous."

"Are you now?" she teased.

A preoccupied, half-smile flitted across Caspian's lips and he nodded, turning back to survey the trees.

He started when a small hand slipped into his.

When he turned back to Lucy, the younger girl offered him a small smile and his hand a tight squeeze. "You will be a good king, Caspian," she advised him softly.

Caspian dropped his eyes to the pebbled ground. "You seem very certain of that, Lucy," he whispered.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she asked plainly, gazing up at him with the simple faith that Caspian had so admired (and envied) in her.

The older boy shook his head, playing with her fingers as he gazed down at their intertwined hands. "I am not the type of king your brothers are."

Lucy blinked at him. "Of course you're not," she replied, as if it were the simplest matter in the world. To her, it really was. Perhaps she had never really lost the childish wisdom she had had when they first entered Narnia; whatever the case, she knew this was one concern she could easily lay to rest, "Peter is Peter, and Edmund is Edmund. You are Prince Caspian. How could you expect _not_ to be different when everything about you—except what really matters—_is_?" Her voice softened, and saddened, as she, too, turned her attention to the mountains and the trees beyond them, "This is no longer our Narnia. It is yours. And you are exactly the type of king she needs. Aslan's faith is not misplaced," she suddenly turned, and locked her eyes fiercely with his, "and neither is mine."

There was a heartbeat of silence, then Caspian dipped his head, "Thank you, Lucy," he murmured, "I do not…do not deserve that, but thank you."

IOIOIOIOIOI

They were quiet for a while, watching the Sun slowly peek his sleepy head above the horizon, and would have been quite content to remain so had there not been a sudden, warm snort from behind them. "Should I be worried that you're holding my little sister's hand?"

The two at the riverbank whirled around to face the speaker with two simultaneous, startled cries. Edmund grinned rakishly at them as he stepped forward. "Wouldn't let Peter see that, you know." Indicating their joined hands. "He may like you, but I doubt that extends to courting his baby sister."

Caspian blushed brightly and quickly released Lucy's hand, hiding his own in the sleeve of his tunic.

Edmund smirked warmly. He was merely teasing them, of course. However, before he could reassure the prince of that fact, Peter himself stumbled out into the clearing to join them, sleep in his eyes and golden hair wild. "Who's courting what?" he mumbled, clearly not awake.

Edmund laughed, steadying him as he nearly tripped over his own two feet and into his younger brother. "On second thought, you might not have to worry. I doubt he's aware of much of anything at this point."

It took about ten seconds for Peter to collect himself enough to scowl at him, but when he did, Edmund merely grinned at him. His brother was _not_ a morning person, but this was just another odd little idiosyncrasy that the younger king had missed over the past several months.

Peter only _hmphed_ at him, leaning heavily into his side and burying his disgruntled mutterings about little brothers who got up at ungodly hours of the morning in said little brother's dark hair.

Lucy smiled fondly at them, leaning confidentially into a still-blushing Caspian's side, although the prince's eyes—at the sight of the two other kings—had softened considerably. "This is them at their finest," she assured him softly.

Susan joined them a few minutes later, one of her fine dark eyebrows shooting almost to her hairline and an amused smile tugging at her lips as she took in Lucy leaning comfortably against Caspian. The younger queen felt herself go red under her older sister's knowing stare, but chose not to comment, knowing she would be hearing about it later.

Instead, the older girl turned to Edmund…and was hard-pressed to hold back a quiet laugh. "Guess he found you, then," Susan remarked warmly to their youngest brother, taking in Peter practically sprawled on top of him. "He woke up just a few minutes ago, all out of sorts and muttering about how you weren't there and he had to find you—a grievous offense, I might add. Lion knows you shouldn't keep the High King Peter from his sleep."

Her answer was a half-muffled snort from said High King and the rolling of their little brother's eyes. "I've got him, Su," Edmund replied, gently hefting up an already half-dozing Peter into a more comfortable position on his shoulder.

Lucy frowned slightly, worrying her bottom lip as she straightened up. "You should sit down, Edmund. I doubt your ribs can handle much more."

Edmund shook his head, wincing slightly as Peter's shoulder dug into his side. "I'm fine, Lu. It's him I'm worried about. He shouldn't be as tired as this."

Susan's other eyebrow rose, and she laughed brightly. "Ed, do you even know what time it is?"

Edmund fixed her with an inquisitive stare. "Um, seven o'clock in the morning?"

Susan laughed again. "It's _six_ o'clock in the morning. The Sun rises earlier during the month of Greenroof, remember? He's not going to be coherent, much less awake, until _after_ breakfast."

She had a point, Edmund admitted ruefully, silently studying the lightly tanned face resting against his shoulder (which looked exhausted, even in sleep). But he also knew his older brother better than anyone, and he knew that this was more than the fourteen-year-old's usual early morning grumpiness.

His heart was tired, and Edmund feared what that meant for the rest of their stay here.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The coronation ball that evening was the crux.

Edmund, where he was dancing with Lucy, turned in enough time to see his brother slip outside into a corridor to one of the castle's many balconies. A glance down at Lucy revealed she had seen the same, and a glance up at Susan, where she had cajoled (threatened) Caspian into another dance, revealed that both the newly-crowned king and his older sister had seen him leave, too.

Susan nodded to him when she caught his glance and mouthed, "_Go_."

When he looked at Caspian, his friend merely gave him a pointed look that all but said, _"Well? What are you still doing here?"_

With a faint grin and a grateful nod, he turned back to Lucy, offering his little sister an apologetic smile, "Will you forgive me, Lu?"

She warmly rolled her eyes. "As if you even needed to ask," she gave his chest a light thump with her fist. "Take care of him for me."

Edmund grinned widely. "Lu, you're a hero." He kissed her forehead, "But for the record, I promise."

Lucy returned the grin. "As if _I_ even needed to ask you _that_." Pressing her own kiss to his cheek, she gave him a light shove towards the ballroom's doors, before immediately being spun back into the rest of the dance by a Faun.

Edmund watched her fondly for a moment as she laughed gaily with her partner, before taking a deep breath and setting off in search of his brother.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Unlike Cair Paravel, which Edmund was fairly certain he could find his way through half-delirious (and probably had any number of times), Caspian's castle was a veritable rabbit warren of corridors and hallways. He had gotten lost at least twice, found half a dozen balconies that _weren't_ occupied by Peter, and then had gotten lost at least twice more before stepping out onto yet another balcony.

Well, this one was certainly occupied. Just not by Peter.

A hunched Glozelle stood at the railing, his eyes intent on the sprawling gardens below him.

Edmund held his breath, not quite sure what to say to the man and even less certain whether he should attempt to do so at all. "Good eve," he ventured finally, voice soft and carried by the wind.

Glozelle's shoulders immediately seized and he whirled around to face him, the look in his eyes suggesting that the General had not expected anyone to seek him out this night.

The Telmarine quickly dropped into a startled bow. "M-My Lord," he stammered, "good…evening."

Edmund grinned sheepishly, holding up his hands. "Peace, General. I meant not to startle you and I certainly did not intend to intrude on your solitude this night. I was actually looking for my brother."

"I have not seen him, Majesty," Glozelle's response was quiet, and it was painfully obvious that he was ill-at-ease.

Edmund groaned, causing the General even more unease, and ran his hand agitatedly through his hair. "Of course not," he grumbled to himself, "that would be too easy."

"Sire…?" the question was drawn out and distinctly uncomfortable.

Edmund quirked a lopsided smile at the older man. "I apologize, my friend. It is just frustrating to become so easily lost in a land that I once called my own."

"I can well imagine it, Sire," Glozelle murmured, and Edmund suddenly reflected that he looked rather lonely standing out there, as creatures he had once taken to be myth gaily swirled on in their dance below him.

And though Edmund was overjoyed for his people…he suddenly wondered what it must be like for those Telmarines—like Glozelle—who were honest, honorable souls and had so abruptly been displaced (though, indeed, Caspian was determined that Narnians and Telmarines should live as one) from what they considered their home.

"May I join you, General?" Edmund requested softly, keeping a respectful distance from him where he stood in the threshold.

"Certainly, my Lord," the older man's response was a little too immediate, but it was quite apparent that he did not intend to refuse a King of Old.

Edmund smiled faintly, dropping into a bow of his own, before joining him at the railing. "Thank you," he murmured.

As Glozelle quickly stepped aside to make room, Narnia's youngest king shook his head fondly and gazed down at the revelry going on below. "Will you be leaving on the morrow?" he asked softly, after a few seconds of awkward silence.

Glozelle stepped forward without a word, resting his hands back on the rail of the balcony as he, too, gazed down at the Narnians below. "I intend to, Sire," he answered quietly. "I…" the man paused, clearly struggling, "I do not belong here."

"Caspian would welcome your presence in his court, General," Edmund advised the man softly. "He has few allies among the Telmarines."

Glozelle adamantly shook his head. "I am not so innocent as you seem to believe, your Majesty. I, too, have spilled my share of Narnian blood," his voice went even softer, "and while I was not complicit in my Lord Caspian IX's eventual murder, I did nothing to prevent it, knowing of it. I do not know what you, Kings and Queens that you are, or your Lion has planned, Sire. But I will come regardless."

Edmund eyed him shrewdly, "You put much faith in our intentions, General. How do you know we do not simply mean to kill you?"

In the moonlight Glozelle's face went still and white, but he pressed his lips together and squared his shoulders. "It matters not, my Liege. I will take whatever punishment you deem just. It is no more than I deserve and, in fact, 'tis far more."

Edmund finally smiled, voice and eyes warm. "You are a more than honorable man, sir," stated strongly, with absolute conviction. "I verily believe your sins—such that they are—have more than been absolved. They have been, at least, in my eyes."

Glozelle bowed his head in shame—and something scarily like hope—gripping the rough-hewn stone of the rail so tight that his knuckles turned white. "How can you see that in my soul," the older man murmured faintly, "when I see only black? I am a _traitor_, your Majesty! How can you possibly believe that I will mend?"

"Because I have known one that did," Edmund retorted firmly.

Startled, Glozelle jerked his head up.

"Your mother has raised an honorable man, sir," the young king repeated sternly. "To believe otherwise is to dishonor her sacrifice."

Inwardly, Edmund scowled at himself. He had used nearly the same words Oreius had spoken to him one day, when the memory of his own betrayal had grown a little too heavy to bear. Only their beloved advisor had cited two very different parental figures. Aslan was the first. But the second—

The Telmarine General dipped his head into a slight bow. "Thank you, King Edmund, and if I may say so…so has _your_ mother."

Edmund startled him by outright grinning. "I will not deny that she has, but my situation is rather different from yours, General. I have already grown up once," his smile softened, and saddened, as he turned his attention back to the merrymakers in the garden below, "and it was my brother who raised me into the man I am today."

A slightly strangled sound from behind them announced that they had been overheard, causing both figures at the balcony rail to jump and twist around to face the open doors.

Edmund's eyes widened as they landed on Peter, who had frozen just inside the threshold. "You heard," he mumbled, a hand rising to cover his mouth as heat seared across his cheeks.

A soft chuckle came from behind his brother, directing Edmund's attention to Aslan who had just stepped out around the eldest king. "It was well-spoken, King Edmund."

While Glozelle's face went gray at the sight of the Lion in all his huge, golden glory, Edmund merely blushed harder.

Aslan chuckled again, briefly, before looking at the General, golden eyes kind and inscrutable: "My Child," he rumbled, "come, walk with me."

Glozelle threw Edmund a terrified look, but at the younger man's nod (once he collected himself enough to nod, that is), he drew himself up to his full height and nodded, falling into step at Aslan's side as they headed for the stairs and a more isolated area of the gardens.

Before the Lion and the General left, Aslan turned his great head to look at Edmund. "I shall see you on the morn, my Son. For I believe it would be wise to retire early this night."

And he caught Edmund's eyes, redirecting them to Peter.

Easily interpreting Aslan's message, Edmund nodded, bowing wordlessly. Lion and Telmarine headed out into the gardens as the younger king watched them go, smiling slightly when he saw Glozelle hesitate for a full five seconds, before uncertainly slipping his hand into Aslan's mane.

"You will find your soul is not so black as you think it, my friend," he murmured warmly.

"Ed."

Edmund blinked, turning around to face the owner of that barely audible voice. "Pete?"

His brother's blue eyes had gone gray, swirling and volatile with emotions Edmund dared not name, shimmering wildly in the pale light. They stared at each other, the seconds endless and strained, thick with the words left unspoken between them.

Then…Peter held his hand out. It was both a plea and an insistence, and Edmund sucked his breath in sharply when it trembled. "Peter…" he murmured, instantly stepping forward to take it. It shook all the more wildly once encased between his own.

"You blessed fool," he whispered.

_

* * *

_

_A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.—Proverbs 15:13_

_

* * *

_

_Tbc._


	21. Crowns and Kingdoms Part 1

**WARNING:** I would not suggest that you listen to "Evacuating London" or any other similarly sad song as you read this (even if your authoress did ::sheepish smile::), you may end up wetting your keyboard.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ This is it, folks. The long-awaited "Talk" between our two boys (do you know how many times I wrote and re-wrote this?). When I first started out writing this fic, I didn't ever imagine it would turn out this way. I hope it meets your expectations, and thank you for sticking with me! I promise the next chapter won't take another three and a half months to get out! (Trust me, I don't want it to, because after this, I plan to turn my attention fully to _Learning to Walk Blindfolded_ and a few of my other longish chapter stories.)

_**Reviewers:**_ All _751_ of you, thank you! Please enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ T (upper end of the range)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased) (Siblingfic) (_NO_ Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Quotes/Excerpts/Memories (Italics)**_

**(21)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 283 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated).

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Twenty-One: The Trusting of Crowns and Kingdoms (Part 1)_

_

* * *

_

_At one end of the glade Aslan had caused to be set up two stakes of wood, higher than a man's head and about three feet apart. A third, and lighter, piece of wood was bound across them at the top, uniting them, so that the whole thing looked like a doorway from nowhere into nowhere. In front stood Aslan himself with Peter on his right and Caspian on his left…Yet nobody's eyes were on them…the living and strokable gold of Aslan's mane outshone them all._ (21)

* * *

"Ed," Peter began haltingly, raising his free hand to brush his thumb against his brother's nose, "can we…can we talk now? I mean, if you don't want to I understand. It's okay. But--"

"Pete," Edmund interrupted quickly; Peter subsided reluctantly. "I promised you," he completed softly.

Peter tightly shut his eyes. In response, Edmund did the same, struggling to wrestle down the fierce ache that tightened his chest. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. For six months he had carried around this ache as he watched Peter retreat behind a hardened, easily-provokable exterior, imprisoning himself behind walls and barriers that even his little brother could not penetrate.

But this hurt…_this _hurt was far, _far_ worse, being forced to watch as his king—no longer hiding—suffered silently.

"I always keep my promises, Pete," Edmund reminded him softly as his eyes flashed open.

Peter cracked open his own, the maelstrom within them hardly calmed. "But if you don't _want_ to, that's--"

Edmund hushed him by gently pressing the older boy's head against his shoulder. "Pete, we _need_ to. I'm--" his breath caught slightly in his throat, "I'm not about to lose you again."

Peter, where he was pressed up against Edmund's side, felt his eyes widen and fill with tears, "Edmund--" his voice broke.

Edmund shook his head, tightening the fingers he'd tangled in his brother's hair. "We're going to talk, Pete. We're going to get out everything we can tonight. I'm not…I'm not going to let you slip through my fingers again."

Peter, quite unexpectedly, gave a wet laugh. "Only _you _would think something like that, Ed."

Edmund frowned in puzzlement, and would have objected had Peter not chosen that moment to kiss his shoulder and pull back. "Can we go in now, Ed?" Peter hugged himself and shivered, "I…I'd rather be in a private bedchamber for this." He glanced down at the garden below, where the party was still in full swing.

"Of course," Edmund agreed immediately, tenderly taking him by the shoulder and leading him inside.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"How do you want to do this, Peter?" Edmund asked quietly, gently pulling his brother into what he was sure would become their shared bedchamber tonight.

Peter smiled minutely, lightly brushing his fingers against the younger king's arm, before slipping away to shut the door behind them. "Go sit, Ed," he murmured.

Edmund blinked, finding himself directed towards the bed. Bewildered, he automatically sat down on the mattress, eyes on his brother. As he watched, Peter firmly closed the door and latched it behind him.

He blinked again and found his older brother kneeling in front of him, two hands clasped loosely around his. When Edmund blinked once more and stared at him, Peter smiled warmly and leaned down to kiss the younger boy's hands.

Edmund's breathing hitched. "Peter?"

The fourteen-year-old kept smiling. "Thank you for hearing me out. I don't…" Peter's strong façade crumbled, "I don't deserve even this much from you."

Edmund looked appalled. "_Peter_--!" he burst out.

"Edmund, _please_! Just…" Peter's breathing caught, "just listen to me. Will you listen to me?"

Unhappily, the younger king closed his mouth and nodded.

Peter shut his eyes gratefully. "Thank you," he whispered.

It was several minutes before he opened them again. When he did, he found Edmund watching him patiently, waiting for him to speak.

Smiling wanly, Peter ducked his head, tracing his thumb along the base of Edmund's. "I should have come to you with this sooner, shouldn't I have? I see that now." He took the silence on Edmund's part for agreement and released a troubled breath. "I'm sorry."

Edmund stiffened. When Peter looked up, his brother was frowning slightly. Lacking the courage to maintain their gaze for long, Peter ducked his head and continued to trace his fingers over the bones of Edmund's palm, murmuring faintly, "Would it surprise you very much to know that I was too ashamed?"

He felt the slight jerk his little brother's body gave and took that as a 'yes.' "I guess so," he whispered. "I don't blame you. I haven't exactly been forthcoming with information lately." He felt Edmund's hand entrap his own and squeeze. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, miserably.

The younger boy stirred restlessly in place and Peter quickly glanced up, intending to apologize once again.

Edmund had worked free one of his hands and now pressed it gently against Peter's mouth, cutting off his brother before he could begin. "Stop apologizing already and just tell me what is wrong," he sighed.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "A lot of things are wrong, Ed," he whispered thickly. "S'not fair to dump it all on you."

He felt Edmund's free hand slip through his hair. "That's what I'm here for, Peter," he reminded him softly. "A brother is born for adversity, remember? Whether it comes from outside you…" Edmund's warm palm suddenly pressed against his chest and Peter snapped open his eyes, staring at his beloved younger brother as tears started streaming down his cheeks, "or within you."

Grasping that hand tightly against his chest, Peter whispered, "You always knew me best. It should have been a comfort, but in England…I hated it. The one thing I had—my supposed invulnerability and pride—and you took it from me." He gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh, "You took it from me, luckily, or I would have killed someone." Another strangled, self-deprecating laugh, "Oh, God, Ed, I'm such an idiot. I cherished you above everything else and I almost _hated_ you those few months we were in England because you were everything I should have been and wasn't. How can you even _think_ of forgiving me for something like that?!"

That last part was almost shouted and Peter had bent double, clutching Edmund's hand to his heart.

"Because I _love_ you," Edmund retorted thickly, smoothing his free hand over Peter's broad, shaking back, "because no matter _how_ angry you are, or how much you hate the position you are put in, _you keep on loving me_!"

Peter shook his head wildly, tears coursing down his cheeks. "Why don't you doubt me?" he whispered painfully, curling in on himself. "Why do you trust me so fully, without hesitation?"

"Why should I not?" Edmund countered softly. "I trust you, Peter. You have never given me a reason _not_ to trust you."

Peter jerked his head up, fixing his brother with a look of pure, heartbreaking disbelief. "After everything I said? After everything I _did_? Edmund, I as good as _abandoned_ you!"

"Peter," Edmund's voice was quiet when he spoke, and he cradled his brother's cheek, "I won't say it doesn't matter, and I won't say it didn't hurt—because it does, and it did," the older boy winced, Edmund ignored it, "but love is unconditional, Pete. It always has been. And by that token, so is my trust in you."

Peter jerked away. "_I_--!"

"_Peter_!"

His older brother froze, looking desperately like he wanted to run and trembling like a leaf gone to storm.

Edmund simply shook his head, "Just…come here," he finally ordered, voice softening as he held out his arms.

Never in his life had Peter been able to resist that wordless plea. So he did, allowing Edmund's arms to curl around his neck.

"You sodding idiot," Edmund murmured unsteadily into his ear, "what does it take to get you to understand that _I forgive you_?"

Peter clenched his hands in the folds of his brother's sleeves. "Apparently a great deal more than you have patience for," he murmured into the younger boy's neck.

Edmund gave a thick snort and raised his hand to gently caress the back of Peter's head as his older brother continued to shake. "Always said you were thick-headed," he muttered.

"I don't…" Peter's breath caught in his chest, "I don't understand…"

"Then don't try to, Peter," Edmund whispered, continuing to caress the golden head against his neck. "Something like this…I'm not sure it's meant to be understood, Peter. It just _is_, and that's all right."

"I've…" Peter's breathing went irregular, "I've never been very good at trusting blindly, Ed. That's…that's always been Lucy's department."

Edmund pulled back and gently grasped Peter's face between his hands, gazing squarely into his brother's dark gray eyes. "You can trust this," he stated firmly.

Peter dropped his own, ashamed.

Edmund blew out a heavy breath, letting one hand fall onto Peter's shoulder and tucking a stray, golden curl behind Peter's ear with his other. "I'm guessing this is part of the reason why you were such a…such a…"

He searched for a diplomatic way of saying an—"Arrogant, self-centered, self-righteous prick?" Peter supplied quietly, voice more or less steady. He was completely serious.

Edmund flushed and averted his eyes. "Not quite the term I was thinking of," he muttered. He tugged lightly on the older king's shoulder. "And would you get up already? You certainly don't have to _kneel_ in front of me. You're making me nervous, sitting there like that…"

Peter's hand touched his cheek. "Hush," he murmured. "Yes, I do."

Edmund jerked his head up, glaring incredulously at his older brother.

Peter cut off his protest before it could even begin. "Edmund." Edmund shut his mouth. "Yes, I am High King, but I am also your brother. And _as_ your brother, this is how I intend to talk to you."

Edmund bowed his head. "You shouldn't have to kneel to me, Peter," he whispered, voice nearly inaudible.

"As I said," Peter repeated patiently, "I _want_ to."

Edmund's cheeks—already red—flushed several shades darker. "But--"

"Edmund," Peter cut him off again, "it is not a matter of my being High King, or the oldest, or somehow more important than you, or any of that rot. All that matters right now is that I am your _brother_, and should act as such. If I thought it would help," Peter snorted amusedly, "I'd even _order_ you to let me do this."

Edmund's hands suddenly closed over his. "You've never been able to, Peter. Even when I knew you desperately _wanted_ to," the younger king at last cracked a smile.

Peter's lips quirked into an odd, lopsided grin, "Would it make any difference if I said I _needed_ you to let me do this?"

Edmund flushed again, and glanced away.

Peter's smile saddened, and he reached up to gently turn his brother's face back towards him. His voice softened as he added, "Would it make any difference if I said _I_ needed _you_?"

Edmund's eyes widened and his breathing started to hitch. "Pete…Peter?"

Peter's other hand came up to join the first and they both laced themselves behind Edmund's head. He still wore that strange, sad smile. "Back there? In England? I forgot that love _has_ always, and _will_ always, work both ways. That's true of Aslan, and faith, and believing in things seen and unseen. I'm…" Peter swallowed and valiantly blinked back tears, "I'm not sure I'm ready to go back to England, but I think…" he swallowed again, "I _think_ that if you promise me you'll keep on believing in me…_I_ can promise _you_—and the girls and Aslan—that I'll never again be led astray." He took in a deep, shaky breath, "Will you promise me that, Edmund?"

Tears had long since begun trickling down Edmund's cheeks. Now, heedless of their wetness, Edmund bent forward to tenderly kiss Peter's forehead, murmuring, "Oh, Peter…" he took a deep breath and leaned his own against his older brother's cheek, "You already have it. I gave it to you long ago," his voice (and breathing) went uneven, "long, long ago, when I was first returned to you at Aslan's camp. You _know_ this, Peter," he reached out and took his sobbing big brother gently into his arms, "why did you even need to ask?"

IOIOIOIOIOI

There were few things in this world (any world, really) that Peter felt worthy of, and his little brother was not among them.

So when his sobbing had run its course, and he found himself curled up tightly in said little brother's lap, it was perhaps not so unsurprising that he murmured unsteadily into the eleven-year-old's shoulder, "By the Lion, Ed...what slice of heaven did Aslan cut you from?"

Edmund was still mortified. "_P-Peter_!" he sputtered, turning a shade of red so vivid that his freckles disappeared altogether.

Peter lifted his head, frowning slightly. "What?"

Edmund buried his burning face in his hands. "Don't ever," he murmured shakily, "_ever_ say that again."

Peter frowned even more. "Why?"

"_Because_…!" he burst out, wondering how there could possibly even _be_ a darker shade of red.

Peter stared at him a full moment in shock, before giving in with a low, amused chuckle. "I had forgotten how easily you fluster," he muttered warmly.

"Shut _up_, Peter!"

Peter laughed.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Much later that night, Edmund was woken up by screaming.

_

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_Know ye not that we shall judge angels? How much more, then, the things of this life!—I Corinthians 6:3_

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_

_Tbc._


	22. Crowns and Kingdoms Part 2

**WARNING:** Fluff and angst (_major_ angst, I might add) ahoy, folks. Really, I think they ought to create a whole new genre just for me called "flangst" (or some variation of the word), as that seems to be the dominant theme in this fic! At any rate, just a heads up—you might want to be prepared.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ ::sighs:: I may regret breaking my last two chapters into sections like this, but I'll be a good authoress (do you know how hard that is??) and not make any additional revisions until _after_ I've completed this story. That's right, folks, you heard it. Only _one_ more chapter to go after this and then I'll be finished, caput (you get the idea). Thank you so much for sticking with me—I've thoroughly enjoyed writing this story!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _779_, of you, thank you! Although I've gotten a few flames, the overwhelming majority of you have left absolutely wonderful reviews!

_**Rating:**_ T/M (it's a little on the intense side)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased) (Siblingfic) (_NO_ Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Quotes/Excerpts/Memories (Italics)**_

**(22)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 285 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated).

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Twenty-Two: The Trusting of Crowns and Kingdoms (Part 2)_

* * *

"_Come on," said Peter suddenly to Edmund and Lucy. "Our time's up."_

"_What do you mean?" said Edmund._

"_This way," said Susan, who seemed to know all about it. "Back into the trees. We've got to change."_

"_Change what?" asked Lucy._

"_Our clothes, of course," said Susan. "Nice fools we'd look on the platform of an English railway station in __these__."_

"_But our other things are at Caspian's castle," said Edmund._

"_No, they're not," said Peter, still leading the way into the thickest wood. "They're all here. They were brought down in bundles this morning. It's all arranged."_

"_Was that what Aslan was talking to you and Susan about this morning?" asked Lucy._

"_Yes—that and other things," said Peter, his face very solemn. "I can't tell it all too you. There were things he wanted to say to Su and me because we're not coming back to Narnia."_

"_Never?" cried Edmund and Lucy in dismay._

"_Oh, you two are," answered Peter. "At least, from what he said, I'm pretty sure he means you to get back some day. But not Su and me. He says we're getting too old." _(22)

* * *

Jolting awake, he rolled over onto his side, horrified to see Peter tossing violently in his sleep.

There was another piercing cry. He grabbed his brother's shoulder and shook it. "_Peter_!" he exclaimed urgently. "Peter, wake_ up_!"

With a final, strangled yell, the older boy shot awake, colliding with Edmund's chest as he bolted upright.

Edmund grabbed him in his arms. For one whole second the younger king thought his older brother would refuse his comfort. It had happened often enough over the past six months, but he _hoped_…

A split second later, with a muffled cry, Peter's arms flew around his little brother's neck and he hung on—desperately.

As low, agonized keening erupted from the vicinity of his chest, Edmund started rocking them. "What's wrong? What's wrong?" it was a frantic litany, breathed anxiously against Peter's cheek as Edmund struggled to understand what had set his brother off so fearfully. "What is it? What happened? What was it about?"

Peter merely shook his head, attempting to force at least _something_ past the sobs strangling in his throat. "Narnia—I'm not—and she's--"

"Peter?" Edmund's voice was soft and bewildered.

Peter shook his head even more violently, clutching Edmund's chest. His younger brother took that as a clear sign that he should not speak. "I'm not--" the older boy took a gulping breath, "I'm not—I can't—and He…He says we're getting too old, Susan and I. And I—Ed, I _can't_--!"

With dawning horror, Edmund realized what Peter was trying to say: "You're not--" Edmund's voice caught, "oh, Lion's Mane…_Peter--_"

_You're not coming back to Narnia_.

Peter's breathing hitched, but he nodded. "Not ever," it was a broken murmur against Edmund's neck. "And I thought I was okay with it, you know? We have a mission now, and a purpose. But I…Ed, I can't--"

As the rest of Peter's sentence dissolved into sobs, Edmund reflected painfully that Susan was right. She was _right_. Not even their sisters—not Susan who saw everything, nor Lucy who _knew_ everything—could understand this. They _couldn't_ understand how much it tore Edmund apart inside to watch this—to watch Peter's tears as they ran their course and to know that not even all that he could give would be enough to soothe them.

Nothing would. They had seen each other at their worst, he and Peter; given each other their souls when they hadn't anything else left to give. But it didn't help him comfort his brother. It didn't allow him to take away his brother's pain and bear it as his own, as he had done so many times before. You couldn't _fix_ something like never coming back to Narnia, or sever the link that bound the High King's heart to his fallen country…

But what hurt most of all were three whispered words breathed against his shoulder just before Peter succumbed to exhaustion, "Thank you, Edmund."

Edmund was left clutching his frighteningly spent older brother in the dark: "He must know what He is doing…" whispered brokenly into the chill night air.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The morning light spilling across his pillow (and hence into his eyes) woke Edmund the next day. With a groan, he went to roll over in an attempt to avoid the annoyance…and found his arm pinned in place against the bed by a warm, heavy body.

Blearily, he cracked open his eyes and tried blink back the sting and the ache that announced he had passed a restless night. As his surroundings swam back into focus, Edmund found himself gazing at his brother's lined, weary face.

As he struggled to sit up, Peter's head fell lightly into his lap and Edmund's dark eyes saddened. "Oh, Peter," he murmured, gently tracing a finger along the older boy's hot cheek.

A throat cleared softly in the doorway. "King Edmund?" Aslan rumbled quietly.

Edmund's head shot up, and his eyes widened and filled with tears, "Aslan…" he quavered.

The Great Lion's ears swiveled back and his shoulders drooped. "You did not pass an easy night, I take it. Neither you…nor your brother."

Edmund shut his eyes tightly and nodded. He drew in a deep, if shaky breath, and nodded again. "As…Aslan, I…I think it would be best if we left today. I know all four of us would rather stay here, but Peter…" He snapped open his eyes and gazed down miserably at Peter's exhausted face, tenderly stroking a loose strand of hair back into place.

Aslan bowed his great, shaggy head in acknowledgement of the worry, and padded over softly to join them. "So you shall, King Edmund."

Edmund raised his head to gaze up at him, blinking back more tears. "Will you stay with him, Aslan?" he requested softly.

The Lion smiled tenderly, settling himself on the floor beside Peter's bed. "But of course," he murmured, dropping his chin onto his paws.

Edmund shut his eyes gratefully before opening them to lock his gaze squarely with Aslan's own. "Thank you," he whispered…before gingerly extracting himself from Peter's arms.

When he sensed the loss of Edmund's body heat, Peter's brow creased and he started stirring, apparently registering that something was wrong. Quickly, Edmund slid his pillow into Peter's grasp and watched with baited breath as his brother continued to move. Something must have turned off the worry signal, however, because immediately thereafter, Peter groaned and, without even cracking his eyes open halfway, turned and buried his head in the pillow. Seconds later he was sound asleep.

Edmund started breathing again. "I'm sorry, Peter," he whispered painfully, kissing the top of his brother's head. "I'll be back soon. I promise."

IOIOIOIOIOI

When Edmund finally stepped out into the corridor fifteen minutes later, he was nearly bowled over by a frantic Lucy.

"Ed, Ed, what happened?!" she cried. "I heard screaming last night! I wanted to come then, only Susan said I shouldn't because--"

Edmund tiredly shut his eyes and knelt, gently grasping his little sister's shoulders. He knew Lucy would take his news hardest of all. "Lu," he interrupted softly, voice low and terribly serious as he opened his eyes.

Lucy immediately subsided, her voice coming out small, "It's Peter, isn't it?"

Edmund nodded slowly, blinking back tears. "He had a nightmare. Neither of us got much sleep after that." Actually, they hadn't gotten much sleep _before_ that, either, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

Lucy sucked in her bottom lip, worrying it as she intently studied his face. Her voice, when she next spoke, was barely audible, "We're going back, aren't we? To England, I mean."

Edmund nodded again, much slower this time. "I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning forward to hug her.

Lucy lightly hit his shoulder, but allowed herself to be held. "_You_ don't have to apologize," she chided softly, then sighed. "Actually, I was wondering if this would happen."

Edmund pulled back only far enough to glance inquiringly into her face, "Lu?" he asked quietly.

She swallowed and pressed one small hand to her chest, just over her heart. "He feels it. Right here. Narnia's pain. Her grief. She isn't what she was before, and she is calling out to her High King for help, even if she knows he can't. Peter's never healed as fast as the rest of us, have you noticed? Even _with_ my cordial. Because Narnia's pain," Lucy swallowed again, blinking back tears, "and Narnia's wounds aren't something my cordial can fix." Her voice quieted, "I'm not sure even Aslan can fix that anymore."

Edmund shut his eyes and leaned his chin in her hair. He had suspected as much. But to hear it from _Lucy_…made it that much more certain. And it hurt.

When he opened his eyes again, and gazed far off out of the corridor's windows, there were tears on his cheeks.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Washed and already dressed for the day, Lucy poked her head cautiously around her brothers' doorway half an hour later. "Peter?" she asked timidly, peeping into the guest room as she tried to determine whether her eldest brother was awake.

"It's all right, Lu," Peter's groggy voice answered, "Aslan was just here a minute ago, but He's gone now."

Hesitantly, Lucy entered the chamber, shutting the door softly behind her. Awkwardly, she folded her hands behind her back and did not speak for a few minutes, tentatively studying her big brother's face from where she stood just inside the threshold.

Bemused, Peter wearily raised an eyebrow at her and straightened up in bed. "Well?" he teased tiredly (if gently) and folded his hands in his lap, intending to wait her out.

Lucy hedged, standing there for a few more moments, before hesitantly making her way over and clambering onto the bed.

"Lu?" Peter asked curiously, but nonetheless shifted to make room for her.

Lucy settled herself carefully on top of the covers, before folding her hands neatly in her lap and intently studying them. "Ed said that you had had…he said that you had had a nightmare…" she trailed off, inviting his response.

Peter blew out a weary breath. "I did. Last night."

"You should have come and got me, Peter! Or Susan. You know we wouldn't have minded!"

Her older brother cracked a genuine smile. "I _do_ know, Lu. But it's all right. Ed took care of it."

Something much softer had filled her brother's face at the mention of Ed, and in spite of herself, Lucy grinned, "You two have made up—haven't you?"

Peter's smile widened slightly. "You could say that, yes."

"_Well_? Tell, tell, tell!" she proceeded to rhythmically whack his arm as she bounced impatiently in place.

The corner of Peter's mouth lifted in a warm, half-smirk. "Are you sure you're twenty-four? If you ask me, you're acting more like you're eight."

"I _am_ eight—well, nine—in a manner of speaking. Quit stalling, Peter!"

Peter chuckled, "I'm not stalling, Lu. It's just…I feel I shouldn't."

When Lucy pouted, her older brother actually laughed, "Oh, Lu, it's nothing like that. It's not even like it's a secret. You and Susan both know how much of a prat I was back in England, and even when we got here I wasn't much better."

"You were a right git," Lucy agreed cheerfully.

Peter rolled his eyes fondly. "Thank you for your astute observation, Queen Lucy," he blew out a heavy breath, "but yes, I was a git. And you were right."

Slightly stunned, Lucy blinked at him. "Come again, Peter?"

Her older brother released a troubled breath, staring over her head at the stone wall, "Back in England, I…did a lot of things I am not proud of. And even though I know I hurt you, and hurt Susan, there were still times when I remembered—at least a little bit—that you were my sisters. But Edmund…" he bit his lip and shut his eyes, shaking his head, as guilt—held at bay during the night by Edmund's presence—once again began to rear its ugly head. "The one person I perhaps hurt most of all and he _forgave_ me," whispered painfully as he snapped open his eyes and met her own, causing Lucy to squeak. "You see why I'd like to keep this to myself," he completed finally. His voice gentled and his blue eyes softened, "Last night was for him."

IOIOIOIOIOI

For a few minutes Lucy merely sat there, trying to assimilate all this information as it came at her and attempting to ignore the fact that her sight had gone all blurry.

_Their_ Peter hadn't been _this_ Peter for months on end, and it hurt her somewhere deep down to realize that he may never be again. Edmund had not told her, but she felt it in her heart—Peter, and maybe even Susan, would not be coming back to Narnia. Knowing how he had been and the way he had acted the first time around—

Peter's fingers suddenly tweaked her nose.

"_Ouch_!" she cried, rubbing the offended appendage, "Peter!"

"Always be aware of your surroundings, my Queen," he remarked pleasantly, sounding remarkably like Oreius, "You don't know what may jump out at you."

"How about annoying older brothers who have the tendency to worry their little sisters--"

"—and brothers—" Peter added cheerfully.

"—half to death?"

Peter gave her an abashed grin. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

"No, Peter. You're worse."

Lucy's response startled a surprised snort of laughter out of her eldest brother. "Sorry," he muttered warmly.

Lucy gave an exaggerated sigh, "It's fine." Quietly, she studied him, "Are you?" she finally asked.

Peter gave her a comforting, half-grin, "Wouldn't a better question be, 'Will you?'" he corrected gently.

Lucy bit her bottom lip. "But, Peter, in England you--"

"I know," Peter agreed kindly, quietly cutting her off. Then he sighed, "I'm not…I'm not _ready_ to live in England, but I think—I _know_—that you, and Susan, and Ed, won't let me fall again."

"We never did in the first place, Peter," Lucy reminded him softly. "And neither did Aslan."

Her older brother gave a tender, half-smirk. "I know that," he acknowledged warmly. "Now."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Sometime later, the door to the bedchamber opened and Peter and Lucy glanced up in enough time to see Edmund and Susan walk in.

Edmund, who had been in the lead, paused in the doorway when Lucy's wide smile landed on him, glancing curiously (if cautiously) between the two already within. "What did I miss?" he asked warily.

While Lucy giggled, Peter's eyes lit up as soon as he spotted him. "Ed!" he greeted happily, holding out his left arm for the younger boy.

Edmund raised an eyebrow, but willingly released the door's handle and stepped over to the bed. Slipping easily into the waiting arm, he pressed a swift kiss to the tousled blond head before wordlessly looking to Lucy for an explanation.

Her response was a large grin.

From behind their little sister, Susan snorted warmly, "Yes, Ed, I'd say Peter will be _perfectly_ all right."

When Edmund raised his head to scowl half-heartedly at their amused older sister, cheeks flushed a decided red, Lucy correctly guessed that this was a continuation of some conversation that had taken place before they had entered the room.

Peter also seemed to understand an exchange had taken place previously, but unlike Lucy, he did not appear to be following them.

Edmund smiled softly at Peter's bewilderment, gently nudging him with his shoulder, "You had some people worried," he scolded lightly as Susan left the doorway and came to sit with them.

Peter smirked faintly and opened his mouth to reply…when Lucy's distressed voice interrupted them both, "Oh, Susan, not you, _too_!"

Startled, both boys jerked their heads up and stared as their distraught little sister leapt up from the bed and rushed to meet the older girl halfway, twining her arms tightly around Susan's waist.

When she noticed them watching, Susan smiled vaguely and rested a hand gently on Lucy's head.

"It's not _fair_!" Lucy cried into her chest. "First Peter and now you! You didn't do anything _wrong_!"

Edmund winced, well aware of what Lucy had obviously just realized: Susan wasn't coming back to Narnia, either. When he went looking for her, he'd found Susan crying her heart out on a balcony, apparently just after Aslan had left her side.

"Oh, _Su_…" Peter's voice cracked with painful empathy.

Smiling weakly, Susan lightly tousled Lucy's hair. "I won't say it's okay—it probably won't be for a long time. But we'll manage—we always have, you know. And it's not…it's not quite as difficult as you'd imagine. But let's not spoil the day, all right?" She gave her little sister's braid one last tug. "Come on, Lu. Let's just take each day as it comes and put on a brave face for Caspian, hmm?"

Lucy pulled back with a strangled laugh and sniffed a grin, "Right."

* * *

_Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.—Proverbs 3:5-6_

_

* * *

_

_To Be Concluded…_


	23. The Exchanging of Promises

**WARNING:** You may get a little teary-eyed when reading this or the following chapter (the Epilogue!), so be prepared!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media. Several pieces of dialogue in the first section were taken from both the book and movie—most of it is adjusted to fit my version, but there is one particular bit of dialogue (labeled number one (1)) that comes more or less directly from the book.

_**Author's Note:**_ Well, this little fic is beginning to wind down ::grins::-only the EPILOGUE left to go! This was originally intended to be the last chapter, but I think the way I've broken it up works better. My apologies for getting this out so late—I'm in the midst of a rather vigorous job hunt at the moment, but I fully intend to finish this before June 30th (with any luck, much earlier). For now, please enjoy this next-to-last chapter!

_**P. S.**_ For anyone who is interested, _**acacia59601**_ has audio-recorded the first three chapters of _Learning to Walk Blindfolded _for NFFR's podcast. So many thanks to her and be sure to check it out!

_**Reviewers:**_ All _812_ of you, thank you! You've been simply fantastic and every single one of your reviews (even if I do not respond to each one) is appreciated greatly!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased) (Siblingfic) (_NO_ Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_**Memories/Quotes/Excerpts (Italics)**_

**(23)** _Prince Caspian _p. 285 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia _(Hardcover; Illustrated).

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Twenty-Three: The Exchanging of Promises_

_

* * *

_

_It was odd, and not very nice, to take off their royal clothes and to come back in their school things (not very fresh now) into that great assembly. One or two of the nastier Telmarines jeered. But the other creatures all cheered and rose up in honor of Peter the High King, and Queen Susan of the Horn, and King Edmund, and Queen Lucy. There were affectionate and (on Lucy's part) tearful farewells with all their old friends…And then, wonderfully and terribly, it was farewell to Aslan himself…_(23)

* * *

At eleventh chime precisely, a diverse crowd had gathered in the large square not far from the castle. Some of its occupants mingled easily and curiously, mostly the younger generations of Old Narnians and Telmarines. Others stood uncertainly in the middle, not quite sure they were ready for this large, but necessary step, and yet unwilling to be a part of the third group that stood off to the side. This group held themselves away from those around them, standing erect with all the dignity and disdain they could muster.

Caspian sighed, wearily rubbing his eyes. He'd not gotten much sleep the previous evening between his coronation ball and helping Aslan prepare for this morning, but he was satisfied, if not pleased, with the turn out the Lion's missive had garnered. More Telmarines would be trickling in over the next four days as the messengers reached the more remote villages of Narnia. He was beginning to understand that creating a unified country would take longer than he had anticipated, but it was a start.

A warm hand suddenly settled on his shoulder. "Caspian?" it was asked quietly.

The newly-crowned king smiled tiredly at his worried companion. "I am fine, Edmund. Just tired."

Edmund bit his lower lip, but nodded. At that moment, Aslan spoke up softly, "King Edmund…."

Edmund started, but a moment later, quirked the Lion a faint half-smile. With a brief squeeze to Caspian's shoulder, the second youngest of Narnia's Golden Monarchs slipped away to join his siblings where they stood with Glenstorm, Trufflehunter, Trumpkin, Reepicheep, and Doctor Cornelius. As he did so, Caspian caught a fleeting glimpse of sadness in those dark eyes, before it was quietly tucked away.

Unsettled more than he cared to admit, the new king jerked slightly when Aslan gently cleared his throat. "King Caspian, if you would?"

Tearing his gaze away from his friends, Caspian took a deep breath and stepped forward. "Narnians and Telmarines; Humans, Beasts, Dryads, and Dwarves!" he cried clearly. "Narnia belongs to her Narnians just as much as she belongs to her Human Men and Women! Henceforward, we will all live as one people! But for any Telmarine who wishes it, Aslan will return you to the land of our forefathers."

"It has been generations since we left Telmar," an older man towards the front protested softly. "We no longer have any memory of that land!"

Aslan's ears swiveled forward and he turned to look at the speaker, golden eyes warm, but firm. "We are not referring to Telmar. You came into Narnia out of Telmar, yes. But you came into Telmar out of another place: your people were brigands; pirates and seafaring folk run aground onto an island by a storm. From that land you stumbled into this, through a chink or a chasm that acted as a portal—a magical doorway from another world. The same world that _our_ kings and queens come from."

Murmurs rose in the crowd, some awed or proud, but most fearful and disbelieving. Even the Pevensies had been unaware of the similarities between themselves and Caspian and his people. Caspian himself could not decide whether to be disappointed or pleased about his ancestry. Another similarity between he and his friends was welcome, but at the same time he rather wished he had been descended from a more honorable lineage. At the very least, it might have made it easier to convince the dissidents in the crowd that they weren't so very different from the Narnians after all.

Aslan seemed to sense his thoughts. "You might have been aware, King Caspian, that you could not be a true King of Narnia unless, like King Peter and King Edmund, you were a Son of Adam. That is honor enough to erect the head of the lowliest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor. Bear it well, and bravely, for it is by these merits that you shall judge and be judged" (1).

Caspian, still trying to process this highly disconcerting bit of information, wordlessly bowed his head.

A pleased smile flitted across Aslan's lips, before he turned back towards those who had gathered. "I can return you to that island: it is a good place, uninhabited with wells of fresh water and rich soil, and plenty of timber for building, as well as a surplus of game for hunting. It will be a hard life, but rewarding, if you live it rightly."

More restless murmuring rose at this announcement. Several of the men in the center shifted uncertainly from foot and spoke in uneasy undertones to their neighbors.

Caspian scanned the crowd for any who looked willing to make this first, crucial decision and was brought up short by the looks on two different faces: Lord Glozelle's…and his aunt's.

The General was frowning fiercely, his dark brow knit in indecision. His aunt merely looked thoughtful, gently rocking his infant cousin in her arms.

Caspian swallowed uncomfortably. These were two Telmarines he had rather hoped would not decide to leave. The General had proven to be a staunch ally and, before the war, had always treated him with kindness and patience—at least when his uncle wasn't around. His aunt…well, he wasn't really sure why he wanted his aunt to stay. She had never really shown any interest in him and, for all intents and purposes, often forgot he was even there. But she—and his cousin—were really the only family he had left and, somewhere in his heart, he hoped (with his uncle gone) that they might make a real effort at becoming one.

But it was not to be.

"Time is slowly dwindling," Aslan spoke up gently, voice soft. "If you do not speak up now—or return within the next several days—you will not be offered another chance like this. There used to be many chinks and chasms between our two worlds, but this is one of the last. Be aware that it is not _the_ last, but it is doubtful you will happen across another."

Glozelle took a deep breath, opening his mouth as if to respond…and then shut it, as his eyes suddenly fell on his young king. For several endless seconds, their gazes remained locked, before Caspian averted his eyes, cheeks flaming.

He did not see Glozelle's face soften, but Edmund did, and released a nearly silent sigh of relief as he realized the older man had made his decision.

The General quirked the second youngest Golden Monarch a small smile before slowly climbing up the steps of the dais. Gently, he gripped Caspian's shoulder, urging the young king to glance up at him. "I had intended to go," he announced clearly, voice carrying easily to the crowd who had fallen silent when he joined the Kings and their Advisors, "but I believe my efforts are better spent here. I would ask, however," and here he turned back towards the crowd, quietly surveying them, "that any soldier of mine who believes himself hardy enough, and brave enough, go in my stead, as I believe the Lady Prunaprismia intends to go, as well."

"I will, my Lord," a younger man spoke up clearly. He stood towards the front and, very unlike those around him, had a spark of excitement in his dark eyes.

Glozelle bowed his head to the Telmarine as the soldier moved forward to join them on the dais. "You do honor to your family, sir," he remarked softly.

"And, I would hope, to my training, m'Lord," the man responded quietly, with a bow.

The General smiled and forced him to stand upright, lightly squeezing his shoulder. "Never has a man done so more."

The young soldier's cheeks flushed, but he saluted the older man before turning to the Lady Prunaprismia. "Do you intend to leave, my Lady?" he murmured, holding his hand out to her.

With a small smile, she took his hand as an older lord—Caspian vaguely remembered him as his grandfather's friend—carefully helped her up the steps. "We do," she acknowledged. "Thank you."

Caspian shifted to face her as she climbed the stairs, throat strangely tight. "Aunt?" he whispered.

She smiled sadly, and gently shifted his infant cousin in her arms as she paused in front of him. "It is for the best, Caspian. I…have not been the mother I should have been to you, I know. But what was left of my heart died with my sister…your mother. In this new land," she bent down and pressed tender kiss to the tiny head nestled against her breast, "I hope to find it again." She raised her head and reached out a cool hand to press it briefly to his cheek. "Farewell, Caspian. Please take care."

She watched him for one long, unending moment, before abruptly jerking her hand back and hurrying towards Aslan.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It was an apprehensive group that approached the Lion where he stood in front of the singular tree in the courtyard. But he smiled at them, golden eyes warm and glinting with pride, "Well met, my Children. Because you have spoken first, your life in that world shall be good."

When he breathed on them (as Lucy had half-expected he would), quite a different look arrested their features. Bowed backs straightened: the men threw their chests out proudly and Lady Prunaprismia lifted her chin. The baby, who had begun squalling quietly, fell silent and a giggle burbled past his lips as he reached out his hands to the Lion.

Aslan's lips curled and pleased purr rumbled in his chest. Before anyone quite understood what was happening, he had kissed the tiny form and gently nudged the baby's mother on her way.

There was an outcry when Lady Prunaprismia and her escorts disappeared without so much of a breath of air to mark their passing: "_How do we know he is not simply leading us to our deaths?"_ one of the more outspoken Telmarine men cried.

Most Narnians in the crowd bristled, but none of the Kings or the Queens could explain that the cry had been made more out of ignorance and fear than as an intended slight to their beloved Lion. Aslan quelled the murmurs and the snarls with a low growl: "_Peace_," he rumbled, instantly silencing the crowd.

"Allow me, Sire," Reepicheep piped in his high voice. "With your blessing, I will take with me eleven mice and hasten through with no delay."

Aslan chuckled fondly, lightly resting a huge, velvety paw on the Chief Mouse's head. "Nay, little one. Your courage and fortitude serve you well, but in that world there is no place for Talking Mice."

The murmurs and grumblings of the Telmarines grew louder at this: "_You see, he does not let his own go through, but when it comes to Telmarines…go, and welcome!"_

Edmund frowned. He could understand the Telmarines' hesitation and anger to some degree, but this…did they not hear what Aslan had called their fellow Humans? "We will go," he announced clearly, stepping forward.

Caspian pivoted sharply to face him. "You…? But, Edmund-!"

Edmund felt Peter step up beside him and place his hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. When he hesitantly glanced up at his brother, the older boy smiled faintly at him, before turning a slightly stronger smile to Caspian. "_We_ will go," he reiterated softly, voice firm. He released the younger king's shoulder and moved towards Caspian, unbuckling Rhindon and its sheath from around his waist and holding it out to the prince. "After all," he commented quietly, "we aren't really needed here anymore."

As Lucy muffled a small sob beside him, Edmund watched through quickly blurring eyes as Caspian hesitantly accepted the long-treasured Gift from their older brother. The prince quietly cleared his throat: "I shall guard Narnia with my very life and my very blood, King Peter," he swore softly.

Peter tightly grasped both the younger man's shoulders and firmly squeezed them. "See that you do, King Caspian. See that you do. Love your land and your people—they will become a part of your very soul."

Rapidly blinking his eyes, Caspian bowed. "Your trust will not be misplaced," he whispered.

Peter smiled. "I do not expect it to be."

With a kiss on either of the newly-crowned king's cheeks, the High King of Narnia slipped away to stand next to Aslan, bending his head close as the Lion spoke softly to him.

Edmund slipped his arm around Lucy (who was attempting to conceal her sniffles next to him) and gave her own shoulders a gentle squeeze as Susan took their older brother's place. Removing her horn from its place on her waist, she handed it to Caspian. "If ever you have need of Aslan or Edmund and Lucy…" she lightly tapped its shell and smiled up at him.

"What of you and the High King, Lady?" he asked her quietly.

Susan kept smiling, but there were tears in her dark eyes, "Oh, Caspian…" She shook her head, and the tears started trickling down her cheeks, "We're…not coming back."

Caspian dropped his eyes to her horn, tightening his grip on it. At last he took in an uneven breath and glanced back up at her with a rueful smile. Before any of her siblings could blink, he had enveloped her in a tight hug, "I will miss you," he whispered.

Susan's lips trembled, but she graced him with another wide, warm smile before leaning forward to kiss his forehead. A moment later, she broke from him with a half-smothered sob, all but running to Peter who had held his hand out to her.

Edmund squeezed his eyes shut. "Guess it's our turn," he whispered to Lucy. Her auburn head nodded wordlessly against his arm.

When they looked up, Caspian had not moved from his position, bent over both Rhindon and Susan's horn which he cradled in his arms. Neither Golden Monarch doubted he was crying.

Lucy bit her bottom lip and glanced at Edmund. Swiftly, they made their way towards the prince and slipped their arms around him.

"You know this time had to come eventually, Caspian," Lucy murmured thickly.

"I…I know," Caspian's voice wavered, then cracked, "but this is too soon."

Lucy gingerly shook her head. "The time is right," she whispered, lightly squeezing him. "It will _be_ all right." She slipped her hand underneath his chin and smiled tenderly into his wet, dark eyes. "We can still come back, you know. We can still meet up. The chance might be slim, but it is still there. Do not give up hope so easily. I know I shan't."

Edmund stepped back, a hand on Caspian's shoulder and Lucy's shoulder respectively, although his eyes remained locked on the newly-crowned king's. "We did not come to take your place," he reminded their friend softly. "We came to put you into it. And we have. Peter's right—our time here is done. But Lucy's right, too—we still have the chance to see you again. By Aslan's grace, we'll meet again, and when we do…" a teasing smile flitted across the younger king's lips, "I want another sparring match. So you best work on your swordsmanship—I expect you to win next time!"

Caspian sputtered out a laugh, but nodded, tightly squeezing Edmund's forearm. " 'Til your return, brother," he whispered.

Edmund's jaw locked, but he managed a faint, trembling grin, before leaning forward and hugging the prince firmly. A moment later, with a deep breath, he pulled away, stepping back to allow Lucy room to say goodbye.

The youngest Queen flung her arms around Caspian, hugging him with all the strength her nine-again-limbs contained. "You'll be all right, Caspian," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "You'll be all right—I promise you."

Caspian nodded again, by this point completely unable to speak. Tears wended down his cheeks and he released her with even more palpable reluctance than he had Susan.

With a muffled sob, Lucy darted towards Edmund, grabbing her younger brother's hand.

When they rejoined Peter and Susan where the two eldest stood with Aslan, Caspian met each Golden Monarch's eyes squarely, "I will not forget you," he stated clearly. Abruptly he dropped to one knee on the dais, bowing his head, "Narnia will not forget you. Thank you…my dear, dear friends."

One by one, Narnians and Telmarines alike dropped to one knee.

IOIOIOIOIOI

By unspoken consensus, the three older Pevensies agreed that Lucy ought to be the last to leave Narnia. Or rather, ought to be the last to see Aslan. However, before Edmund could so much as take a step in the direction of the Lion's Door, Peter gently stayed him with a hand on his arm. "Let me go," he murmured.

Edmund opened his mouth to object, but almost before he had done so, Peter quirked him a grin and—raising an eyebrow at Susan—lightly proffered his own arm. Their older sister smiled sadly, but slid a slim hand into the crook of Peter's elbow.

As Edmund watched them with rather dazed eyes, Peter and Susan slowly made their way towards the Door, pausing briefly to bow to Aslan (and those arrayed around him), then vanishing without a trace.

The younger king would be the first to admit that it was rather disconcerting, but Lucy chose that moment to lightly grab his elbow. "We should follow such a fine example, don't you think, Ed?"

Edmund glanced down at her: Lucy's dark eyes were bright with tears, but her smile was strong, and the older boy found himself smiling back at her. "How could we do any less?" he agreed softly. He swept into a graceful bow, "Whenever you are ready, my Sister," he murmured, offering her his arm.

Lucy's smile turned into a small grin, and she gently curled her hand around his elbow, allowing him to walk her to the Door.

Like their older siblings before them, they paused when they reached Aslan. The Lion's great, golden eyes gazed at them solemnly, "Be brave, my Dear Ones. It shan't be long 'til I see you again."

Edmund bowed. Then, with a squeeze, he gently dropped Lucy's hand to step forward through the Door in the Air.

Lucy spun around just before she entered the Door after him, the tears in her eyes streaming freely as she took one last, longing glance at Aslan.

"_Go on,"_ it was no more than a whisper borne on the breeze, but the tone was gentle and a warm breath puffed against her cheek, lightly stirring her hair.

Lucy's last glimpse of Narnia as she stepped through the Door was of sun-lit gold.

_

* * *

_

_So there is no difference between Jews and Gentiles, between slaves and free people, between men and women; you are all one…and will receive what God has promised.—Galatians 3:28-29_

_

* * *

_

_To Be Concluded_


	24. Epilogue: The Keepers of Faith

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note:**_ Well, folks, it's over ::grins::! It's really done—after nearly two years. This project has been a challenge and a joy, and I have never had so much fun writing a fanfic! Although _Keeping the Faith_ has come to its closure, I'm not yet done with this universe ::grins again::. In the next several weeks I hope to have a small one-shot up called _Honoring Him_ and it details an occurrence mentioned in the last few chapters of this fic (see if you can find it ::mischievous wink::). And I fully intend to finish _Learning to Walk Blindfolded_ now that I have a steady base from which to work. Goodbye for now and please enjoy this final chapter!

_**Reviewers:**_ One and all (and that means all _835_ of you), thank you! Thank you for sticking with me, and thank you for all your reviews and PMs—they were often some of my strongest motivators. This chapter is dedicated to all of you!

_**Rating:**_T (upper end—language)

_**Summary:**_ What if Lucy _had_ decided to go across the gorge when she saw Aslan, regardless of whether her siblings came with her? At least she won't be alone…and it is not just Aslan who joins her…(AU, Book and Moviebased) (Siblingfic) (_NO_ Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thought/**_

_**Memories/Quotes/Excerpts**_

**(24)** _Prince Caspian_ pg. 286 in _The Complete Chronicles of Narnia_ (Hardcover; Illustrated).

_Keeping the Faith_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Epilogue: The Keepers of Faith_

_

* * *

_

_After that came a moment which is hard to describe, for the children seemed to be seeing three things at once. One was the mouth of a cave opening into the glaring green and blue of an island in the Pacific, where all the Telmarines would find themselves the moment they were through the door. The second was a glade in Narnia, the faces of the Dwarfs and Beasts, the deep eyes of Aslan, and the white patches of the Badger's cheeks. But the third (which rapidly swallowed up the other two) was the gray, gravelly surface of a platform in a country station, and a seat with luggage round it, where they were all sitting as if they had never moved from it—a little flat and dreary for a moment after all they had been through, but also, unexpectedly, nice in its own way, what with the familiar railway smell and the English sky and the summer term before them._

"_Well!" said Peter. "We __have__ had a time."_ (24)

* * *

The blast of heat and the smell of spilled gasoline and burning electricity were unwelcome, but not unexpected. Edmund coughed and nearly gagged as he stumbled forward out of the Door, leaving the crisp, fresh air of the Narnian morning behind him.

Once he oriented himself, however, he became aware that a pair of arms had slipped underneath his own and were—at the moment—the only things holding him upright. Swallowing, he glanced up, his heart in his eyes.

Before he could so much as _begin_ to express the fierce, uncertain worry that had barreled to the forefront of his thoughts, Peter had roughly jerked him forward against his chest, hold tight. While part of his mind went absolutely light-headed with relief, the other, currently larger part was suddenly aware of their surroundings (and the unabashed stares they were receiving _from_ their surroundings) to the last, exacting detail. "_Peter_!" he protested loudly, color rushing into his cheeks as he struggled to disentangle himself from his brother's arms.

Peter snorted softly. "Sorry," he murmured, gently releasing the eleven-year-old.

Edmund pulled back and scowled up at him, but it ended up looking like more of a pout—Peter knew _exactly_ how much that reassurance meant to him, if the gleam of amusement in his older brother's eyes was anything to go by.

Edmund rolled his own eyes and turned his pout into a playful scowl as he turned it to Lucy who was trying valiantly to stifle her giggles in Susan's school jacket. "Hush up, Lu. It's not like you weren't about to ask Susan the same thing."

Lucy shrugged, grinning, but leaned back comfortably in Susan's arms, not the least embarrassed by their older sister's welcome display of affection. "So maybe I was," she laughed softly. "Boys just have too much pride, that's all."

"Yes," Susan added with a quiet laugh, "heaven forbid they actually admit to having _feelings_."

Edmund's expression developed into a full-fledged scowl and he crossed his arms over his chest, but Peter merely laughed and gently mussed up his dark hair. "Give it up, Ed. They know us too well."

Edmund harrumphed, but did not quite manage to conceal the rueful grin that tugged at his lips as he turned in the opposite direction.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(One Hour Later, Girls' Train)

"Are you really all right?"

The question was prompted by Susan, who had slid down into one of the seats in their compartment almost as soon as the door slid shut behind them. Its owner was Lucy, who had remained standing in the threshold—even as her older sister released a huge sigh of relief and relaxed back into the cushions.

Susan looked up at her with a warm smile. "I'm really all right, Lu," she promised softly. Her smile grew wider, "I thought you had already determined that in the Underground."

"Well, yes," a flustered Lucy smoothed back an errant strand of auburn hair from her face and came over to sit next to Susan, "but it's not going to be a year this time and-"

Susan laughed softly. "Lucy, darling, _I will be perfectly fine_. Given time, I am sure it won't even hurt. Peter and I have learned everything we can from Narnia—we can't give much back, really. Except our love." She smiled again, a slow, tender smile, "And you and Edmund already have that in plenty."

Lucy's cheeks pinked. Susan had said similar things before, but her sister had never seemed to _mean_ it as much as she did now. "It's just…it's going to be so _different_ without you and Peter there," she murmured, averting her eyes and drawing her finger along the pleats of her school jumper.

Susan's bright laughter startled her. "Well…that may be true. But, Lu, just think…you won't have any older siblings to worry about. Well, except Ed, and I'm sure _he_ won't mind…" Her laughter had transferred to her voice now, and Lucy glanced up, frowning slightly. It had been a while, but whenever Susan sounded like this, her older sister usually had something absolutely devilish in mind.

"What do you mean?" she asked warily.

Susan gracefully waved her hand, studying her little sister out of the corner of her eye with an absolutely mischievous twinkle, "Oh, Lu…_you _know. If you decide to court Caspian. Really, it's all right. Boys can be positively _thick_ about matters like this…"

As Susan had intended, Lucy completely forgot about her worry over the older girl. "_What_?" she shrieked. "_Susan_!" Her cheeks went all the way from spun-sugar pink to ripe-strawberry red.

As her older sister's unbridled laughter rang out in their compartment, Lucy tried to pout around her grin.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(An Hour and Twenty Minutes Later, Boys' Train)

"…They were _giggling_, Peter! If that isn't flirting, I don't know what _is_!"

Edmund marched through the door to an empty compartment and whirled on Peter as his older brother followed him, shutting the door behind them. "_You_ I can understand. But _Lion's Mane_…! I'm only eleven!"

Peter snorted quietly, easing their suitcases up into the overhead carrier. "Use diplomacy, Ed," he offered softly.

Edmund gave him a look of clear disbelief, hands on his hips where he stood in the middle of their compartment. "Diplomacy? In case you didn't notice, Peter, your _"diplomacy"_ didn't work on the Telmarine ladies at Caspian's coronation ball. Nor did mine, for that matter. We're lucky we weren't dragged off to be wed in some village at midnight!"

Peter smirked faintly. "Ah, but you're quite a handsome eleven." When Edmund scowled, Peter chuckled, "In any case, Ed, they're English girls and English girls are rather different from Narnian girls."

"Doesn't matter," Edmund grumped, crossing his arms over his chest, "they still eyed me like some sort of bloody _prize_…"

Peter smirked again, a bit more strongly. "Well, they aren't so far off the mark, are they?"

While Edmund tried to work through Peter's retort and decide whether he meant it as an insult, a tired smile flitted across his older brother's lips and the fourteen-year-old sank down into a seat. Shutting his eyes, Peter leaned his head back into its cushions with an exhausted sigh.

Hearing it, Edmund frowned, thoughtfully studying his brother and trying to ignore the fear starting to creep back into his subconscious. "Pete…?" he asked softly, reaching out to gently touch the older boy's cheek.

A small smile flitted across his brother's lips. "'M all right, Ed," he murmured, reaching up to trap the slender hand.

Edmund's frown deepened as he dropped his hand (even though Peter didn't relinquish it). "You're sure?"

"I will be."

Edmund sighed, moving to sit beside his older brother when it became apparent Peter would not let him sit elsewhere. /I wish I were as certain,/ he thought.

After a few more seconds of silence, Peter suddenly spoke up again, "We're never going to be normal…are we, Ed?"

Edmund snorted softly. "No. Would you want to be?"

Peter opened his eyes and, inclining his head with a smile, conceded his brother's point.

Edmund sighed again, "Pete…we're kings. Of _course_ we're never going to be normal."

"Were you ever?" Peter teased softly.

Edmund scowled rather fiercely and punched his brother's shoulder. "_You_ certainly weren't. Honestly, we should make you carry around a sign, 'Danger-prone, steer clear.' At least it would make you think twice before attempting something as damned heroic as single combat with a man twice your senior and nearly twice your height. What in Aslan's name possessed you?"

Peter smirked warmly. "And here I thought you'd forgotten all about that."

"Forgot? _Forgot_ that you damn near gave me bloody _heart failure_? That's almost as bad as expecting me to _forget_ that you almost tore your whole bloody _arm_ off trying to dodge an errant crossbow!"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're exaggerating, Edmund." He paused, then smirked, "It was only my hand."

He laughed when Edmund's jaw dropped, "_Only_-!"

More laughter, bright and unrestrained; and although Edmund sat there, fuming, the kernel of hope that had slowly been burgeoning in his chest since the single combat now grew wings and took flight.

Everything would, indeed, be all right.

_

* * *

_

_Love is patient, love is kind and not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things; believes all things; hopes all things; endures all things.—I Corinthians 13:4-7_

* * *

_The End_


End file.
